


Two Steps From Hell

by Darkrivertempest



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Adversaries Working Together, Consent Issues, Drinking, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Mild Horror, Mild Language, Prophecy, Severe Spell Damage, Sexual Tension, Snark, Thestrals, mild violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-16
Updated: 2020-02-01
Packaged: 2021-02-27 08:01:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 25,508
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22273738
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Darkrivertempest/pseuds/Darkrivertempest
Summary: Severus Snape has always stood on a precipice. When he starts to lose his footing, he finds help from unexpected places.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Severus Snape
Comments: 114
Kudos: 252
Collections: sshg_giftfest





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Sarah Willow Mummy Collings](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Sarah+Willow+Mummy+Collings).



> Written for Sarah Willow Mummy Collings at the 2019 SS/HG Giftfest on LiveJournal.
> 
> I originally rated this Teen/PG-13, but then it was pointed out there was a bit of horror in it, so I made the rating M, just to be safe.
> 
> Infinite gratitude to my beta DelphipSmith (who saved my arse in ways they'll never know) and my brainstormer-in-arms Toblass (who cheered me on and always checked up on me, even in the face of adversities of their own.) - You're both awesome! 
> 
> Sarah's prompts: 
> 
> #3 - **What if the prophecy Trelawny made wasn’t the only one that night, what if there was another about Snape and his destiny, and how is Hermione involved.**  
>  #7 - **Hermione is working at the ministry and discovers that the prince family fortune is to be inherited by a man she thought dead, a man she is tasked to find, is it a wild goose chase.**
> 
> She also liked Lucius, so of course I added him. ;)
> 
> So, hang on to your butts... it's about to get bumpy!
> 
>  **Disclaimer:** _The characters and canon situations in the following story belong solely to JK Rowling, Scholastic and WB. I am not making any money from the publishing or writing of this story._

“Not sure why you signed up for this drudgery, but here’s where you’ll spend the remainder of your natural life.”

Hermione Granger glanced at the Ministry official as the woman unlocked a heavy oak door. “That’s putting it on a bit thick, don’t you think, Miss Cormonger?”

The greying witch harrumphed. “Suit yourself.” She flung open the door to reveal a chamber absolutely full to bursting with teetering piles of boxes, dusty files stacked haphazardly, and random artefacts with ink-scrawled labels tied to them. “No one’s touched this room in years. Didn’t want to go through the trouble of finding all those distant relations, did they?” 

Hermione scanned the area, which was about the size of the Gryffindor Common Room. “You mean all these items have been sitting here, just waiting to—”

“There was a war on, Miss Granger. You should know better than anyone that there were other priorities than sifting through the property of the dead and sorting out their wishes.” 

“The war ended three years ago. Hasn’t anyone bothered to come down here since then?”

Miss Cormonger smirked. “That’s what apprentices are for, aren’t they? You’re the first they’ve had in decades. Looks like you have your work cut out for you.” She grabbed Hermione’s hand and dropped an ornate key onto her palm. “Good luck. And mind the cupboard in the corner. I believe there’s a Boggart in there.” 

“Boggart?” Hermione whispered as Miss Cormonger’s steps faded into the distance. She vividly recalled her last encounter with a Boggart in Professor Lupin’s class. She cleared her throat and straightened her posture. “Right, then. Let’s get this sorted.”

* * *

In the three years since the war had ended, a lot had happened in Hermione Granger’s life.

After finding her parents in Melbourne, with the help of Harry and Ron, she and Bill Weasley had reversed (as best they could) the effects of the _Obliviate_ Hermione had placed upon them for their protection. Bill had said, during the course of their work, that she had a gift for crafting spells, charms and even curses or hexes, and that there would always be a spot open for her on his team of curse breakers. 

She had demurred as politely as she could without telling him outright that she had no desire to delve into the depths of darkness that Bill dealt with on a daily basis. She’d had enough of that throughout her school years to fill the Room of Requirement. Instead, she had expressed the opinion that there was a great need for social justice in the wizarding world, and that there was no place better to start than with one’s own self. 

So, she went back to Hogwarts and finished her seventh year, while Harry got recruited into the Aurors by Kingsley Shacklebolt. Ron, predictably, had followed Harry, but after two years had privately expressed to Hermione the fact that, along with carrying the Horcrux during a significant amount of their time on the run, his tenure as an Auror had taken its toll on him. Having seen first-hand the effects Slytherin’s locket had had on Ron, she could only imagine what training to hunt down Dark wizards and witches had done to her already traumatised friend. 

Friend. It felt good to say that. While she had harboured a massive _tendré_ for Ronald Weasley through the latter half of their school years, time, circumstances and sometimes pure dumb luck had brought those feelings into stark reality. She’d had grand ideas of what their first kiss might be like. Unfortunately, it was mostly…wet. Even the thrill of having destroyed a Horcrux and surviving the aftermath wasn’t enough to warm her soul… or even her lips, when Ron pressed his against hers. She knew then, even if he didn’t, that things might not turn out the way they had thought.

They had tried to make it work—she didn’t easily give up, after all—but often their outings turned awkward without Harry as a buffer between them. The less time Harry spent with them, the less they communicated in any meaningful way, and conversation devolved into snarking and sniping at each other instead. By the time Ron had had enough of the Aurors, he’d also had enough of trying to ‘date’ Hermione, and they’d both silently agreed, with a healthy dose of relief, that it was for the best. She had sensed there was a darkness within him that she couldn’t reach, that he would have to exorcise it on his own, that it was part of his personal journey on which she couldn’t follow him.

Now that Ron was working with George at Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes he seemed more content; the demons he carried were, if not gone, at least manageable to a degree that allowed him to have healthier relationships with everyone around him. He and Hermione had had a drink together just the other day in The Leaky Cauldron, their first in almost a year. It had been awkward at first, but soon became relaxed as Ron talked about his progress in dealing with Fred’s death, the visions he’d had while wearing the locket, his insecurities, and his guilt surrounding his abandonment of their trio in the Forest of Dean. She forgave him immediately, letting him know that she knew now there had been influences upon his behaviour, even if at the time his betrayal had been hard to bear. 

He’d held her hand and smiled…and she felt nothing other than affection for a dear, close friend, one who had started on a difficult path but had taken the first brave step. She told him about her upcoming apprenticeship at the Ministry, that she was excited and trepidatious to work her way through the departments in her pursuit of Magical Law. They exchanged promises to meet at least monthly for drinks to catch up, with or without Harry.

Hermione had mused over their conversation later that night. She definitely wanted to make a difference in Magical Law. After two years of study at Cambridge in Muggle Law she had returned to the Ministry, eager to implement what she had learned in order to craft policies that would benefit all of the wizarding world. Instead, she had been told that she’d have to start from the bottom and work her way up. She had presented a litany of reasons to Minister Kingsley Shacklebolt as to why she should be allowed to dive straight in, but he just shook his head and told her she needed to gain a little practical knowledge to go along with the book smarts she already had. He then winked at her and suggested that she prove everyone wrong about what she could accomplish at such a young age and that, if she was as cunning as he believed her to be, she would have his job in no time. 

Minister of Magic? Imagine she herself being the progressive voice who ensured the eradication of oppressive, pro-pureblood laws. The possibilities were endless!

The stepping-off point was the Wizengamot Administration Services department. It sounded grander than it was—clerical duties, which included maintenance of court documents. And that’s why she was here, down a dimly lit and distinctly shabby corridor, staring at the monumental task before her. Miss Cormonger had seemed almost obscenely gleeful as she presented Hermione with her duty. Or maybe that was all in her head. Regardless, Hermione cursed her own meticulous nature, knowing that it would take her hours, if not days, to go through just one of the trunks and boxes that littered the chamber. 

Who knew that the orphaned property of deceased wizards and witches who had no family or friends to carry out their last wills and testaments would encompass an entire chamber?

* * *

After tying up her frizzy locks and shrugging off her outer robe, Hermione got down to work. 

The first trunk she opened revealed four pink stuffed flamingos, two sets of bagpipes, and parts of a medieval suit of armor - a helmet and greaves. She couldn’t fathom who had owned them, nor who they were to be given to, or for what reason. She conjured a stool and sat down to read the document attached to the underside of the lid. 

“ _From Edward Lochlan: To be given to my great aunt Ursula Redsole in Jupiter, Florida, USA. Don’t wear the armor in the ocean, you will surely drown. The birds are merely sleeping, please wake them the moment you receive them. One set of the bagpipes is cursed. I’m not sure which, so I’m going to try them both. If you receive this trunk before the Ides of March, it’s the set with the green and black tartan. 3 March, 1901._ ”

Hermione gasped and peered carefully into the trunk at the innocuous-looking musical instruments. There sat the green-and-black tartan bagpipes, alongside a blue, yellow and black set. There was a faintly menacing air about the one, while the other simply sat there, occupying space. Alas, the poor birds were not alive, not after a hundred years. And the armor looked dubious as well. 

Should she find this Ursula Redsole, which would mean contacting MACUSA, she made a note to ensure the strongest protection spells surrounded the cursed set of bagpipes before shipping them off to Florida. That task complete, she moved on to the next.

A small crate with air holes caught her attention from where it had been shoved under a document-laden table in the corner. Hermione carefully moved it with her foot, but jumped back when she heard a sound like hundreds of arguing budgies. The sound grew until a swarm of Pixies exploded out from the air holes, their shrill voices rising to an almost deafening pitch.

Several snagged in her hair before she could cast an _Immobulus_ , leaving the majority of them floating motionless around the room. She could hear a few still buzzing about inside the crate, evidently having decided to not risk the spell, so she _Locomotor_ ed the frozen ones back inside, cast a Shield Charm on the crate, and moved it to the door, intending to get rid of them outside.

When she opened the door, however, another Ministry worker stood there, struggling under the weight of a large carved wooden box. “Miss Granger?” a man’s voice asked, the top of his head the only thing visible.

Batting at the creature atop her head, she muttered, “Yes, that’s me.” 

He looked around the box and stared at the Pixie that was now chewing on her hair. “Erm, I’ve got another case for you to sort out.”

She huffed and pointed at the one clear area on the floor. “Put it there.”

He scurried in, dropped his burden, and slowly backed out, then paused in the doorway. “Are you really _the_ Hermione Granger? The one that helped Harry Potter? From the war?”

Oh, she immensely disliked that. She had done enough to be recognised for her own merit, hadn’t she? Instead of answering his question, she yanked the Pixie out of her hair, thrust it into his arms, and then set the whole nest to swarm about his person. Ignoring his yelps, she closed the doors in his face. Let him sort _that_ out. 

Ignoring the now-muffled sound of the wizard’s panicked screams and the maniacal laughing of the Pixies, Hermione crouched down to inspect the newest addition to her workload.

It wasn’t dusty, nor was it new; the carvings that covered the lid were worn in places, but it was evident that someone had taken care of this box, at least in its recent history. The black lacquer that coated the exterior radiated a potent magic. She cast detection spells to see if there were any curses attached, then chided herself; the Ministry employee had carried the item just fine. Fascinated, she placed a finger atop the lid and traced the largest rune. “Algiz, or Elhaz - protection.”

A frisson of magic raced through her hand, causing her already frizzy hair to puff out into a complete bush and tingling to the point it made her giddy. She laughed as she slid her fingers along the seam until she found the catch that would open the lid. When the contents of the box were revealed, her laughter died as she read the name inscribed inside: _E. Prince_. 

Incredible as it seemed, this box had belonged to Eileen Prince, Severus Snape’s mother.

After casting shield spells and all manner of protection charms as a precaution, Hermione levitated the items out, one by one. Some were odd, such as the packet of Pink Boric Lint - Boracic Acid Absorbent Dressing. Others were practical: a small wooden box proclaimed the contents to be ‘Plantain Tea - for Tobias’ Coal Cough’. 

There were heavy tomes: _The Chemist & Druggist Diary for 1884_, _Secret Remedies - What They Cost and What They Contain, 1909 Edition_ , _The Names of Herbes_ by William Turner, 1568—an extremely rare book—and _The British Pharmacopeia_ , first edition, 1864. The weightiest volume, however, was John Gerard’s _Herball - A Generall Historie of Plantes_ , with details about every known flower, herb, root or shrub, anything that could be used in a potion or remedy, and accompanying illustrations. 

No wonder Severus Snape became a Potions Master. If Eileen Prince had had these books in her library; he’d obviously learned from a Master himself -- all the masters, in fact. Underneath the books was a handwritten journal that detailed what should be grown in a physic garden, and instructions on how to handle each plant. So much information! Hermione wanted desperately to sit and read all the books in the box, but there were several more items still inside, including a velvet bag shoved into the corner which she ignored for the moment.

Brass scales (clearly well-used) came out next, followed by a stained mortar and pestle. She carefully levitated a cobalt blue bottle to settle on the ground beside her, a faded and peeling label stating that it contained ‘poison from the Peruvian Vipertooth Dragon’. This was rare, indeed. Because of its particular craving for human flesh, obtaining venom from said dragon was especially dangerous and only three wizards in the whole of history had performed the feat, two of them perishing in the attempt. The third, Charles Weasley, had done it once and refused to do it again, having sustained multiple injuries during the hazardous milking. The venom he had captured had barely been worth risking his life, but the Potions Guild had been thrilled at the chance to make use of it. This bottle, which contained a significant amount of fluid, must have been obtained by Harvey Ridgebit, probably in the final milking that had killed him, for the quantity was enough that it must have come from multiple dragons. She shuddered to think of how it had been obtained, and moved the bottle farther away before retrieving the last item in the box.

The purple velvet bag refused to be levitated, so Hermione cautiously lifted it out by hand, surprised to find it light and warm. She pulled open the drawstring, tipped the bag, and a glass globe filled with swirling mist tumbled onto her palm. She knew it instantly, remembering shelves crashing around her, running for her life in the Department of Mysteries.

A Prophecy Record.

Harry’s prophecy globe had been shattered during the Battle of the Department of Mysteries. She had never heard the prophecy, though the general outlines were common knowledge, but Dumbledore had heard the entire thing when it was first spoken by Professor Trelawney, no less. He had assured Harry, Ron and herself that there wasn’t much to the rest.

But that had been a lie. She’d found out later just how willing Dumbledore was to sacrifice Harry, not to mention Snape, in order to achieve his goal of defeating Voldemort once and for all. The mentor she’d once held in high regard had toppled from the pedestal on which she’d kept him when confronted with the cold reality of his machinations. 

Hermione shook her head, dispelling the memories. Still, she was curious about a prophecy involving Eileen Prince, though she would likely hear nothing but incoherent whispers, as she had in the Ministry that night. Had this one come true? Had it been altered at the last minute? Why was it in this box, and why had it come to light now, when Eileen had been dead for decades? 

The warmth of the globe increased, almost to the point of discomfort, and Hermione was afraid she was going to drop the fragile bubble, but at the last moment, a vague face formed in the mist and a raspy voice spoke clear as a bell.

_When war is done, when the serpent strikes,  
Brothers in arms, so much alike  
Slow is the poison that fills his veins,  
But once full nothing will remain.  
One small light is his only hope  
Pray he finds purchase on the slippery slope  
For he who was lost must now be found  
Though he is not laid within the ground_

_Child of transgression of boundaries  
The cleverest in half a century  
On swiftest feet now must she travel  
For the puzzle of him she must unravel  
Lest another Dark Lord rise from the ashes  
And unleash deadly fury upon the masses._

Trembling, Hermione tried to swallow, but her throat was too dry. There was no tag attached to the orb, no indication whom the prophecy referenced, nor the situation, nor the Seer. But she knew.

Had this Prophecy Record been housed within the Department of Mysteries, only the Seer and the subjects of the foretelling would’ve been able to remove it. So it had never been housed there. The only explanation was that the Seer had spoken, it had been recorded, and the Record had then been hidden away. But why?

She listened to it three more times, pressing the glass to her ear to make sure she heard the words correctly. The harsh voice and misty face was all too familiar: Sybil Trelawney. Was this record to be trusted then? Trelawney had been the one to predict Harry’s fate, so maybe the gazy charlatan was foretelling truly here, too. When was this recorded, though? Who had hidden it, and why?

The label on the box identified the contents as belonging to Eileen Prince, but the first part of the prophecy, “brothers in arms” must refer to a wizard, and the first line—one struck…by…a snake. Hermione blew out a shaky breath, recalling Harry telling her, miserably, that when he had gone back for Snape in the Shrieking Shack, nothing remained but a trail of bloody footprints. He’d assumed that the Death Eaters who had escaped destruction had captured Snape at his most vulnerable and...dealt with him. Torn him to pieces, or simply killed him, finishing the job Nagini had begun. Harry continued to carry guilt for it to that very day. 

But what if Snape had survived? Was it possible? Where was he, then? She listened to the prophecy once more, especially the last part. Though it was vague enough to allude to many things, Hermione Granger squeezed her eyes shut, whispering to herself, over and over, “Not me, not me, not me.”

But she knew.


	2. Chapter 2

Severus stared at his reflection, focusing on the gouges in his neck, the puckered flesh red and irritated. From those ragged tears, thin black veins scrawled across his neck and over his left shoulder. He squeezed his eyes shut, recalling the nebulous sphere that the Dark Lord had placed over the top half of his body, Nagini inside, waiting to strike. She had been vicious, sinking her fangs and venom deep inside his vulnerable body. 

But Severus Snape was no fool. Only a fool would have almost constant dealings with Voldemort and fail to be prepared. Before answering Voldemort’s summons, Severus had swallowed a good portion of the antivenom potion he had made in secret using a minuscule quantity of Nagini’s milked venom stolen from Pettigrew. He hadn’t known the actual potency, of course, for the Dark Lord refused to allow anyone other than himself and Pettigrew to touch the snake, and testing would’ve been wasteful. So, he carefully manipulated the dosage until it was safe for a wizard to consume. He had also tucked a bezoar into his cloak pocket, just in case. 

As it turned out, Severus had badly miscalculated.

* * *

The antivenom had been enough to keep him from bleeding out, but even the most powerful bezoar wouldn’t have been able to absorb the overwhelming amount of venom sluggishly moving through his veins. Thank Merlin the Dark Lord had left the Shack before making sure Severus was dead. Ignoring the sounds of the surrounding battle, he staggered down the passage until he made it out through the tunnel and Disapparated mere seconds before the Whomping Willow could finish him off. He had landed in his back garden at Spinner’s End and collapsed on the steps. The skin on his right arm and back had started to split, a sure sign of splinching. 

He crawled up the steps, pried open the door, and made his way into the kitchen, where he rifled through the cupboards near the cellar and found a bottle of Dittany. He uncorked it with his teeth, poured some onto his neck (though it did little more than take the edge off the pain) and tried to divest himself of his clothing without success. He put the bottle down, sat up, and cast a spell that vanished every button on his frock coat. Tears pricked his eyes as he shrugged it off, the fabric pulling at his wounds. The white shirt underneath was saturated with his blood, so he _Evanesco_ the ruined clothing, screaming as his skin was exposed to the air. 

With unsteady hands, he poured the remaining Dittany down his arm and then let it sluice over his mangled back. As the flesh started knitting back together, he felt himself slipping into shock: body shaking, breathing shallow and rapid, limbs cold (though that could’ve been due to blood loss as well), stomach rolling in nausea. He mustered enough energy to turn and empty the meagre contents of his stomach on the floor before he passed out.

When he’d awoken, afternoon sunlight was filtering through the grimy glass of the window over the sink. He was almost afraid to move, the simple effort of breathing sending painful shivers throughout his body. The skin on his arm and back had healed, but was still tender. His neck muscles were stiff, throbbing, and the slightest movement sent agony exploding into his skull. He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. He had to think rationally, ignore the pain, figure out what had happened.

Was Potter still alive? Had he defeated the Dark Lord? Severus assumed Potter had managed to fulfill his part of the prophecy -- if the opposite were true, Snape would be staring down the wand of Voldemort right about now. But was the boy dead in the process? He truly hoped not, but according to the prophecy, _neither can live while the other survives_ , which practically guaranteed that Potter was dead. He spared a guilty thought for Lily’s son, for his own part in the whole affair. Nothing good ever came from listening at keyholes. 

Knowing he had to leave the area before he was discovered to be missing (after all, his home was the first place someone would look for him), Severus pushed himself off the floor, screaming through clenched teeth at every movement. He stumbled to the sink, turned on the water, filled a glass and drank it down. As he raised the glass to his lips a second time, he caught a glimpse of his Dark Mark. Strange. The serpent on the tattoo seemed to be quivering, its scales shimmering. When a forked tongue flickered out at him, Severus dropped the glass in the sink, not caring that it shattered. 

His first thought was that the Dark Lord was not dead. But upon closer inspection, only the snake moved, nothing else. If the Dark Lord were still alive and calling to his Death Eaters, the entire mark would be writhing and painful. Regardless, he was unwilling to take chances. He pointed his wand to hack the tattoo off, carve it out of his skin...then stopped. The magic of the mark went bone deep, and it would take amputating his arm to stop the spread of darkness. He didn’t mind admitting that he was just a bit fearful at contemplating the prospect of removing a limb when he was already vulnerable. Leave the mark there, with the possibility that it would metastasise to the rest of his body? Or cut off the poison while it was still contained? 

Had Dumbledore been alive, Severus might have approached him for a solution to his predicament. Albus had often said that Severus was amazingly good at overcoming obstacles and difficulties, that he could bounce back from almost anything. What the Headmaster hadn’t counted on was that, in the process of surviving, Severus had acquired a ruthless side. It had begun as a child, at the hands of his abusive father and trapped mother, and had been nurtured further by Sirius Black and his lot. Often knocked down, metaphorically or physically, Severus would claw his way back by whatever means necessary, even unsavoury ones. Violent anger was usually his first response, mistrustful as he was of any that tried to reach out to him, including the only one he had considered a friend. When she left him to his fate (rightfully so, given the circumstances), Dumbledore took advantage. Had Dumbledore not been sorted into Gryffindor, Severus laid odds that the Sorting Hat would’ve placed the conniving old wizard into Slytherin.

Then again, since the Headmaster had meddled with Dark Magic and lost, maybe that wasn’t such a good example. 

A noise originating from his garden made all thoughts grind to a halt. Severus moved into the pantry as quickly and quietly as he could, given the state of his being. He glanced out the window and spied a white-blond tuft of hair. Severus snarled and clenched his fists. Bloody Malfoy! Had Draco followed him here? Hadn’t he done enough to save the miscreant boy? Severus knew the wards on his property were weak at best; he hadn’t renewed their potency in months, not since taking up the mantle of Headmaster. Draco would have no problem dismantling them if he wished to be nosey.

And of course, being the consummate Slytherin, Draco was always looking for an advantage. Severus could feel his wards being taken down, one by one, until Draco slowly opened the kitchen door. Severus couldn’t hold his position much longer; he was on the verge of collapse as it was. He locked his knees to keep upright and watched as Draco, covered in grime and sporting a fair number of bruises, hesitantly inspected the kitchen, stopping at the sight of the splatters of blood on the floor and cupboards.

Draco paled even further than he already was. “Snape?” he whispered.

Severus felt a strong urge to cast a hex at the boy, but he could barely grip his wand. His neck wounds had started to bleed again and he was growing faint. He had just enough energy to send a non-verbal _Petrificus Totalus_ , and he breathed in relief that he’d caught Draco unawares. 

Malfoy hit the floor, landing on the bloody linoleum face down. Severus snorted and limped his way to the prone wizard, then nudged him with his boot to turn him over. Blood from the floor was smeared over Draco’s face, much like the time Potter had hexed him in the boy’s bathroom during their sixth year. He needed Draco verbal, however, so he cast _Incarcerous_ and waited for the petrification spell to wear off. The effort sapped him of his remaining strength and he fell to his knees next to Draco. 

“The… Dark Lord… dead?” Severus croaked when he noticed Draco’s eyelids start to flutter. 

Draco’s breathing was shallow and rapid, but he nodded slightly. Severus sagged in relief. 

“Potter… alive?”

Draco frowned, eyeing Severus curiously, but nodded again. 

Severus returned the nod and shifted from his knees to sit fully on the floor. At least the boy had lived. He pressed the tip of his wand to Draco’s throat. “Why… here?”

Draco swallowed. “Father said you were dead,” he rasped. 

“And you… wanted to… make sure?” Severus scoffed. He coughed violently and grabbed his throat. 

“No, I--”

Severus’ wand cut off any further speech. “You will tell… no one.”

Draco’s less-than-subtle glance towards the kitchen door told Severus all he needed to know before his former student uttered a word. He grabbed Draco’s right wrist as tight as he could, then bent low and whispered in Draco’s ear, “Shouldn’t... listen… at keyholes.”

Tapping into the last of his magic reserves, Snape began casting an Unbreakable Vow to ensure that Draco would never be able to betray him, even at Lucius’ urging. Draco squirmed in panic but couldn’t free himself from the ropes of the _Incarcerous_. 

“You need a Bonding Agent, a witness!” Draco hissed through clenched teeth.

Severus arched a brow. “Do I?” He shook his head, forgetting his injuries for a moment, then gritted his teeth at the pain that resulted. “I’ve endured two... Unbreakable Vows, child, both designed... to keep you... and Potter safe.” He spit to the side to free his mouth from the foul venom mixed with blood that had accumulated. “Yet I still… live. _I_ say when I… end. No one else. Now...swear”

As Draco repeated his terms, the barbed cords of the Vow settled onto their skin, searing Severus with their weighted promise. He was certain Lucius had used Draco to find him, that the man was probably waiting in the back garden for his son, so he returned the favour in kind by trapping said boy into a vow that would mean death should he try to disclose or take advantage of Severus’ whereabouts, or his very existence. He knew Lucius would not endanger his son, even at the cost of sacrificing some of his power; this bit of insurance should ensure his safety, at least.

Severus slid away from Draco until his back came up against the kitchen cupboard, then sagged in exhaustion. He gave a casual wave of his wand and Draco’s restraints disappeared. “You would do… well to forget me.”

Draco scrambled to his feet, clutching at his right forearm. “How can I? You made sure that I’d be reminded daily!” he spat, tears fringing his lashes. 

“Be glad I only... extracted a vow,” Severus rasped, his throat protesting the more he used his voice. “I could have wiped... your memory permanently until... you were a blithering, incoherent mess... for the rest of your days.”

Draco looked like he wanted to hit Severus. Not with magic, but old-fashioned fisticuffs. Severus thought the boy might win, if he actually tried. Thankfully, Draco seemed to think better of it and backed away. “Father will ask what it means. What I swore.”

Severus shrugged, his eyelids heavy. “You’re clever; you’ll figure out... some explanation.” He tilted his head back and tried to swallow, but it only brought agony. “Leave and... never come back,” he whispered.

Draco studied him for a moment, then turned to leave quickly, the door slamming shut. 

Severus let go a moan of sheer agony the moment he was alone. It had taken everything within him to remain upright while dealing with Draco. Now, he needed to sort through his reserve potions stock in the cellar before he could concentrate on his future.

* * *

That had been almost three years ago. Draco had kept his promise… so far. Lucius apparently hadn’t been able to extract any information from his son, or perhaps he had realised that doing so would mean his only offspring’s demise. 

Once Severus had gathered his few belongings, he had set Spinner’s End ablaze, hoping the Ministry would assume the remaining Death Eaters had been responsible. He had then made his way to Lancashire, to Pendle Hill, where there were always stories of witches and otherworldly going-ons. It would mask his presence to live amongst Muggles who thought such occurrences were commonplace. 

He had hoped to find a way to live with the Dark Mark, with the constant presence lurking in his veins. That hope had vanished six months ago, when the serpent in the Mark would no longer be contained and had started branching out along the sinew of his muscles. This, combined with the still-present venom from Nagini (he could only filter his blood in small quantities) combined to create a malicious storm in his body, turning him into something… else.

Severus forced himself to take another look in the mirror at the face that was slowly becoming foreign to him. There was a distinct greenish-black hue in the hollows of his cheeks, as well as a scaliness to the skin on his left arm. His fingernails were becoming sharp, like talons, and his teeth felt too big for his mouth. He would have thought he was becoming a Maledictus, but since they were only female, that was impossible. 

He remembered Cadmus and Harmonia - humans turned serpent by otherworldly forces. Was that to be his fate? It seemed all too likely. Unable to stand his reflection any longer, Severus shattered the mirror, revelling in the destruction of the horrid image.

At this point, it was only a matter of time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pendle Hill is a real place with a real witchy history:
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MATKIhrDZSc


	3. Chapter 3

“I think Snape may be alive.”

Harry Potter choked on his Stella Artois, his eyes watering. “What?” he managed, after clearing his throat several times.

Hermione glanced around the Muggle pub and cast a Muffliato, just in case. “I think Snape may be alive.”

He frowned. “Why would you think that?”

She’d considered showing him the prophecy record but was unsure of the risks, especially since Harry was now an Auror. Meeting in a Muggle place had seemed safer, all things considered. “Lets just say I came across some information that indicates he may be in hiding.”

Harry narrowed his eyes and crossed his arms. “What sort of information? I see all the intel coming into the Auror Office, and I bet a Niffler’s pouch there’s nothing regarding Snape. His house was destroyed shortly after Voldemort’s defeat, and no one’s seen or heard anything about him in years.”

“Imagine you’d had a career as spy, Dumbledore’s killer, and former Death Eater. Don’t you think you’d do everything in your power to erase any traces of your existence once the public thought you were dead?”

“Point taken,” he said grudgingly. “But still, I think I would have heard _something_ in all this time.” He picked at the label on his beer bottle. “That night, once I could get away, I followed the trail of blood to the entrance to the Whomping Willow. To see if I could find him, give him first aid, hell, maybe even help him escape if it came down to it.” Harry ran a hand through his still-messy hair. “There was nothing, Hermione. I would’ve said he Apparated, but he must have been too weak to perform even a _Lumos_. There’s no way he could’ve done it without splinching himself.”

Hermione squeezed his hand, knowing how much Harry blamed himself for Snape’s death… or lack thereof, given the information. “All the more reason to believe he may still be out there.”

“After three years?”

She shrugged. “Nicolas Flamel lived in and out of hiding throughout his life. There are decades shrouded in mystery where we don’t know whether he was alive or not. Obviously he was, but the point is, he kept his presence secret because of the Stone. Snape could have done the same thing. He is a Half-Blood who grew up in a Muggle town, after all.” 

Harry sat back and studied her. “There’s something you’re not telling me, Hermione. I know you. You’re not this sure about something without having indisputable facts to back it up, or a very good reason.”

“I’m impressed you know what indisputable means,” she teased, hoping to avoid the subject of evidence.

He threw his beer mat at her. “I’m not dumb, Miss Insufferable Know-It-All!”

“I never said you were. But we both know you and Ron were never ones to keep your nose in a book.” She gave him a small smile. 

But Harry would not be distracted. “What is it?” he said firmly. “You know I won’t tell anyone.”

She bit her lip. Knowing Harry as she did, she had no doubt of his loyalty, but could he keep a secret? “How much do you trust Kingsley?”

Harry was taken aback. “He’s an Order member. Plus, he’s Minister of Magic now. I would hope he’s trustworthy.”

“Your father thought Peter Pettigrew was trustworthy,” Hermione pointed out, not unkindly. 

Harry’s expression grew pinched. He took a long pull on his beer and looked away. “True,” he muttered. “But, given my position, I have to believe Kingsley will do what’s right for our world.”

“And that’s my point,” she said with a sigh. She stared at the condensation on her glass of Riesling. “I’ve come across something that pertains to Snape… and possibly myself.”

The confusion on Harry’s face was almost comical. “You? Was there something between you two that I didn’t know about?”

Her cheeks grew red. “Well, there was the time I set his robes on fire because I thought he was hexing you.”

“I’m shocked!” 

“No, you’re not," she scoffed.

“Alright, no I'm not,” Harry admitted. “You were always looking out for me. But seriously. What’s going on?”

Hermione leaned forward and spoke quietly, despite the Muffliato. “I was working the backlog of items in the law department and came across one that belonged to Eileen Prince.”

“Merlin’s beard,” Harry whispered. “Hasn’t she been dead for years?”

“Yes?” 

Harry heard the question in her tone and gave her a look. “You don’t know?”

“There's no record of her death, she just...disappeared sometime in the seventies. And it’s not like Professor Snape would’ve divulged any information regarding her whereabouts, would he?” she said with growing frustration. “Paranoid, the lot of them.”

“Do you blame them?”

She ran her fingers through her hair. “No. No, it’s not paranoia if they really _are_ out to get you.”

“How long do you think Eileen’s case had been down there?”

“See, that’s the thing! It was just delivered a couple hours after I was given the job.” She tugged on an errant strand of her hair. “Almost like it was timed.”

“That’s odd.” Harry drained the last of his beer. “So, what… was it personal belongings, or--”

“It was a trunk. Full of books, measuring scales, potion bottles, and…”

Harry raised his brows. “I’m dying here, Hermione.”

“Drama queen.” She bit her bottom lip. “There was a Prophecy Record tucked away in a velvet bag.”

Harry sucked in a quick breath. “Shit!” he hissed. “Why in the world wasn’t it in the Department of Mysteries?”

“My guess is that no one was supposed to see or hear it.” She gave him a pointed look. “It was made by Trelawney.”

Harry snorted. “Did she ramble on and on as per usual?”

“No, but it wasn’t her normal style. And she looked younger.” Hermione rubbed her temples. “Didn’t Dumbledore hire her because she actually started channeling the prophecy about you during her job interview, and he later learned that...” She clenched her fist. “Snape!”

Harry’s eyes widened. “That’s right! Snape was listening!” He glanced around the pub, suddenly anxious. “Dumbledore found out Snape overheard the prophecy concerning me and the Dark Lord, but what if there was _more_ to the prophecy? Did Dumbledore alter it? Merlin, I need to listen to that record, Hermione. Then we need to talk to Dumbledore.”

“Not at Hogwarts!” she whispered anxiously. “Professor McGonagall will know we’re up to something.”

Harry gave her a lopsided grin. “We usually are.”

“All the more reason not to draw attention to what could be an explosive situation. Pretty much everyone in the wizarding world wants to vilify Snape, kill him outright, or treat him like a martyr, none of which he would tolerate.” She stood, banished the Muffliato Charm, and grabbed Harry’s hand. “Come on, we need to catch the nineteen thirty-five to Swaffham Prior.”

* * *

Hermione had bought Goodwin Manor just before she had started at Cambridge University. It was eight miles from the school, and since the grounds were spacious she didn’t have to worry about Muggles seeing her Apparate to and from campus for her classes. Parts of the house dated to the 16th century, and it sat on grounds that were believed to have been an estate as far back as Roman times. It was smallish in size, nothing so grand as Malfoy Manor, but it held its own.

The house had undergone many improvements since she had taken up residence, but the outside with its exposed timbering, leaded light casement windows and steeply pitched roof with crisscross pattern tiles was pure Tudor. Internally, the house had well-proportioned rooms which were uncharacteristically light, and many original features including exposed brick flooring, wide inglenook fireplaces, and plank and panelled doors.

The sitting room, where Harry and Hermione were bent over the Prophecy Record, listening, was papered in a deep maroon, and the fire in the hearth cast long shadows across the walls. 

When the voice stopped, Harry sat back and blew out a shaky breath. “That’s… that’s a lot to take in.”

Hermione returned the sphere to its velvet bag. “I know.” She sipped at her mug of tea. “Do you have any idea where there might be a portrait of Dumbledore that's… well… not in the public eye?”

Harry scratched his chin. “I know there are two at Hogwarts, but…” He frowned. “You know, Aberforth might have one.”

“Would he let us talk to him?”

“I don’t see why not.”

Hermione gave him a dubious look. “You never know with Aberforth. He’s not one for reasoned discussion. He may say, ‘No, and it’s for your own good, now, bugger off!’”

“Yeah, he’s kind of touchy when it comes to his family." Harry thought a moment. "I could give you my Invisibility Cloak, then I could distract him with drinking while you look around.”

"That sounds feasible," she said thoughtfully, then added with a grin, “I’ll try to find the portrait before you die of alcohol poisoning.”

“I appreciate your concern for my liver.”

* * *

As Hermione had predicted, Aberforth wanted no truck with his brother’s business and firmly told Harry that he had no such portrait. (Hermione was ensconced under the cloak and he had no idea she was there.) Of course they didn’t believe him, but Harry let it go and moved the conversation on to other things, keeping the barkeep busy trading stories over Ogden’s Finest. 

Leaving the two men talking, she moved as silently as possible to the staircase that led up to the second level of the building, no doubt where Aberforth lived. As she gingerly climbed the steps, alert for the tiniest creak, she thought it really should have been Harry seeking out Dumbledore’s portrait, not her. She was no good at this sort of subterfuge; it made her nervous, like contemplating cheating on an exam. She reached the top...and her breath caught in her throat as a voice echoed softly from the far left corner of the passage.

“I know someone’s there, but...” The figure in the painting was fiddling with an ampule of some sort. “The powerful magic is beyond me.”

Hermione went a few steps down the short hallway and found herself staring at the portrait of a much younger Dumbledore. His short reddish beard looked oddly handsome on him and his sparkling blue eyes searched the surrounding area for her. 

“Reveal yourself to me.”

Hermione bristled. “I will ask the questions, if you don’t mind.”

His face became hard. “And if I do mind?”

When she was much younger, still naive and eager to please, she would have immediately done as she was told, especially a command from a wizard as powerful as Albus Dumbledore. But time, circumstances, and life in general had prompted Hermione to grow into her powers, both magical and personal. She knew her own worth and bowed to no dictates, aware from experience how often those giving the orders concealed their true agenda. She recalled how an older Dumbledore had no qualms about using Snape and Harry, and to some extent Harry’s friends, in their efforts to destroy the Dark Lord. That Voldemort had needed to be vanquished was not and had never been in question; Dumbledore’s methods and methodology assuredly were. She imagined he had been even more ruthless as a young man, so she would need to proceed with caution.

“You’re a very old painting, Albus,” she said as she moved about the cramped space, still very much invisible. She could tell it was irritating him that he couldn’t see her. “Tucked away in a dusty corner. I’m guessing that Aberforth hasn’t made your portrait fireproof.” 

She could see him clench his jaw, ire in his gaze. “Might I know your name, since you seem to be acquainted with me?” It didn’t sound like a request.

“Let’s just say I have questions, and you may have answers.”

He paced from one side of his frame to the other, then stopped in the center and crossed his arms. “I refuse to interact with someone I cannot see.”

“Because I’m feeling generous,” she said, tired of his bullish behaviour, “I’ll reveal my person, but my name is my own.” She flipped off the fold of the cloak covering her face.

He narrowed his eyes. “Who are you? Why will you not give me your name -- are you in league with Grindelwald?”

Ah yes, of course. At this age, so far as the portrait knew, the greatest threat to the wizarding world was Grindelwald. Perhaps this was a futile effort after all; this version of Dumbledore was so young, it probably had no clue of what she sought. “No,” she assured him. “Grindelwald is… gone.”

A look of relief mixed with anguish passed across his face. “Gone,” he whispered. He shook his head and stared off in the distance. “Did I… was I the one who…”

Hermione let the cloak fall to the floor and stepped closer, her hair frizzed out to outrageous proportions. “No, sir. You were not responsible for his death.”

“Sir?” he rasped, scrubbing at his eyes. “Am I so important to you in your time? When are you from?”

She cursed under her breath for her mistake. “I know an older version of you, yes. I can’t give you any more information on that account. The knowledge I seek is of a pure-blood wizarding family with whom you may be acquainted.” 

He studied her. “You’re Muggle-born, are you not?”

“And proud of it,” she said primly. 

“I did not mean to infer that there was anything wrong with being a Muggle-born. That would be quite hypocritical of me, since I myself am a Half-blood. I merely asked because Muggle-borns don’t normally go looking for pure-bloods -- it is, shall we say, unwise. At least, in my day. Have things changed so much?”

She wished she could tell him that things were significantly better, a thousand times better. But three years after Voldemort’s defeat, the wizarding world was still recovering, the various factions and prejudices still trying to learn how to coexist without mutual annihilation. “Things are... marginally better,” she replied, wondering if she were trying to convince him or herself. “But I’m looking for an older family… the Princes. Have you heard of them?”

“The Prince family.” Dumbledore stroked his beard thoughtfully. “Very old. Roman and Slavic-influenced Romania. Said to be extraordinary potioneers. I have never met a member of that family. It’s quite possible they remain in Europe.”

“Eileen probably wishes she had,” Hermione muttered under breath. 

“Pardon?”

Hermione sighed. This version of Dumbledore would be of no use to her; he knew nothing past his early days teaching at Hogwarts. “Nothing. Pay it no mind.” She picked up the cloak and slung it round her shoulders again. “I appreciate the information; at least it gives me an idea of where to start looking.”

“Wait! You should take me with you!”

She gave him a tense look. “I’m not carting around your portrait. If you’re desperate to be...elsewhere, you’ll need to take that up with Aberforth.”

She covered her head and was nearly to the stairs when she heard him snarl, “I gave you information! You owe me a favour!”

She tugged the cloak down to her shoulders again and glared at him. “I owe you _nothing_ , since you gave me nothing.” Her chin jutted out in defiance. “I don’t think you want to become acquainted with my penchant for pyromancy.” She conjured three balls of blue flame and rolled them between her fingers. “Things could become...uncomfortable.”

The colours on the portrait washed pale. “You need my expertise, I can be useful!”

Hermione gave him a sad look. “I don’t need anything from you.” 

Not bothering to re-cover her face, she descended the stairs to the pub room, where she found a completely pissed Harry and a slightly tipsy Aberforth. She grabbed Harry under his arm, ignoring Aberforth's gasp of shock, and steered him towards the exit. 

He giggled. “You so fluffy!” he mumbled, trying to pet her head.

She rolled her eyes. “Yes, your cloak tends to make my hair frizz even more than normal.” At the door she paused and turned to Aberforth. “Move Albus’ portrait to somewhere he can at least look out a window. If you don’t, he may find a way to inflict some damage.”

She let the door shut on his outraged spluttering.

* * *

Two Pepper-Up potions in the morning didn’t do much to help Harry avoid a hangover. 

“Merlin’s wrinkly balls,” he groaned, squinting. “It’s too damn bright!” He covered his eyes and whimpered. “Turn off that light!”

Hermione snorted and took a sip of her tea. “I’m a powerful witch, Harry, but even I can’t turn off the sun.”

Harry sobbed and pulled his robe over his head. “It’s too early for this.”

“It’s one o’clock in the afternoon… on a Thursday.”

Crookshanks chose that moment to hop up on the counter and meow at Harry. “Leave me alone, you stupid Kneazle.”

Hermione finished her tea and gathered up her cat. “Stop being so surly. We need to go to Hogwarts and speak with Dumbledore’s portrait there.”

Harry slitted one eye open. “Why?”

“I told you last night, before you threw up in my bushes, but apparently you didn’t retain the information.”

“Stop being so… wordy. My brain hurts.”

She gave him a long-suffering look. “The portrait at Aberforth's is of a very young Dumbledore -- in his thirties or thereabouts. I believe he was only a professor at the time it was done. He thought I was working for Grindelwald, if that tells you anything.”

“Ouch,” Harry said. He rubbed his eyes, then scrubbed at his flyaway hair. “We might be able to find Snape another way. Without having to talk to Dumbledore.”

She put Crookshanks down and shooed him away. “How?”

Harry squinted at his watch. “He should still be in his office.”

Hermione frowned. Whatever Harry’s alternative solution was, she had a bad feeling about it.

* * *

“Potter, Granger,” Draco greeted hesitantly, his gaze darting between them. “To what do I owe this dubious pleasure?” He stood, arms folded, in the door of his Gringotts office, not making the least motion to invite them to enter.

“Can we come in?”

Draco arched a brow. “I don’t know, Potter… can you?”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Pedantic arsehole.” She moved past him, dragging Harry along with her.

Draco watched them enter his work chamber with an amused look. “Pot kettle, Granger.” 

“Are you sure we need his help?” Hermione quietly asked Harry, as they sat down on two uncomfortable office chairs.

Harry sighed and nodded. “It’s either him or his father. Which one would _you_ rather deal with?”

“I am right here,” Draco pointed out, his arms crossed. “I’ll not ask again; what do you want?”

In response, Harry cast two Shield Charms and a Muffilato to the surrounding area, then said, “What do you know about what happened to Snape?”

Draco stiffened. “Nothing.” He might as well have added, "Period. End of story. Full stop."

“Liar,” Hermione accused. “You know something. It’s… important. Please, I--”

“Spare me your whinging,” Draco grated out. “Now, unless you have some business with Gringotts, you’ve overstayed your welcome. I can't -- won’t -- help you.”

Hermione opened her mouth to berate Malfoy on his behaviour, but Harry gripped her wrist firmly. He tugged her off the chair and pulled her towards the door, Hermione huffing at being manhandled.

“Leave off, Harry!”

He only gripped her wrist tighter. “We’re asking the wrong questions,” he said, and looked pointedly at Draco. “Right, Malfoy?”

“What are you talking about?” Hermione extracted her wrist from Harry's fingers and frowned at Draco. “What are the right questions?”

Instead of answering, Harry stared at Malfoy, sparing a glance at his exposed right arm. “Does your father know?”

Sweat started beading on Draco’s brow and he clamped his lips shut, his whole body shaking. 

Harry quickly placed a hand on Malfoy’s shoulder and squeezed lightly. “It’s okay, Draco. You don’t need to tell us. Thanks anyway.” 

Hermione grumbled as, once again, Harry pulled her to the exit. “If he knows something, he needs to--”

The door slammed behind them.

Hermione whirled on Harry, about to give him a piece of her mind, but anger change to confusion as he blew out a breath and leaned against the stone wall, his expression pained. “What’s wrong? What happened in there?”

Harry turned his head and she could see a shimmer in his eyes. “It’s not that he doesn’t want to help us, Hermione. He can’t.”

She crossed her arms. “Why not?”

He pinched the bridge of his nose. “He’s made an Unbreakable Vow. I saw the crisscross scars on his right arm. Odds are, that vow is with Snape.”

Hermione could hardly breathe. “How do you know? Maybe Malfoy just accidentally cut himself, maybe--” 

“Trust me, I _know_ , Hermione!” he hissed. “In Snape’s memories, I saw him make the same kind of vow with Draco’s mother.” Harry gave her a rueful smile. “What Slytherin wouldn’t relish the chance to exact a similar promise in return?”

“You’re wrong,” she said with a certainty that was as firm as its source was unknown. “Snape’s not like that.”

Harry stared at her in confusion. “How would you know?”

She glanced at the bustling gallery of the bank below. “I just know.”

“That’s never been a good enough reason for you before.”

Tears fringed her lashes. “I know.” She hated feeling like she needed to defend Snape at every turn. “I just… it’s so frustrating. I feel like I _need_ him to be…” 

“Redeemed?” Harry offered. “Remorseful? Regretful?” He shook his head. “I doubt he’s any of those things, Hermione. His life was shit; he would think you’re pitying him.” He pulled her into a hug. “Are you sure you want to do this? Are you sure you want to find him?”

She leaned back with a fierce look. “My head says no. My heart says yes. My soul?” She gave him a bittersweet smile. “My soul says I have no choice.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The inside of Goodwin Manor is lovely and Hermione would totally live there:
> 
> https://assets.savills.com/properties/GBCARSCAS170266/CAS170266_CAS19003508.PDF


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lucius ahoy!

A prickling sensation on the bottom of Severus’ feet woke him from a restless sleep. He flung aside the covers to see his ankles and calves covered in welts, the pain akin to a thousand doxies having a go at him. He tried to stand but crumpled to the floor, unable to put weight on his lower limbs. 

He gripped his hair in frustration, nails gouging into his scalp and causing more pain. He let out a blood-curdling scream and rocked back and forth, trying to absorb the burning in his veins, to channel it and push past the now-constant torment of his own body. He had been able to mitigate the more severe symptoms of his affliction as long as he still had some of the antivenom made from Nagini’s venom. He had rationed it until there was nothing left. That had been six months ago. 

Now, with nothing to counter the effects, Severus was most assuredly dying. Or worse, turning into the very thing that had tried to kill him. 

But not yet. _Not yet!_

This new symptom could, he hoped, be eased with a certain salve he had made in one of his more peaceful moments, which were increasingly few and far between. Bracing himself against the bed, he pushed himself upright and limped to the bathroom, cursing the entire way. By the time he sat on the toilet, he was covered in sweat and near to passing out. He downed a phial of Pepper-Up and waited. After a few moments, he took a glass jar from a drawer and started slathering his legs in the pungent ointment, gritting his teeth, letting the silent tears fall. Touching his skin was always a tricky thing; it was overly sensitive to begin with from all the Cruciatus curses inflicted upon him. That was why he wore so many layers of clothing that there was barely a patch of flesh to be seen. 

The salve provided a cooling relief to his legs and he retrieved some gauze to wrap them in so it would be absorbed fully. His nightshirt had fallen off his shoulders; from stress, pain, and lack of sleep, his frame was rapidly losing its muscularity. He glanced at his left arm and noticed the serpent had now wound its way around his whole forearm, undulating under his darkened skin. 

“No!” he shouted, and tried to cover it with his other hand. 

In response, the serpent coiled tighter, the pressure so great Severus thought his arm would snap. He yelled in agony, his arm spasming. Having finally reached his limit, Severus grabbed his wand and was about to start cutting at his elbow, but he was brought up short when the pain ceased. He blinked the sweat out of his eyes and watched as the serpent became still. 

He didn’t have time to ponder this oddity further because a silvery mist came drifting through his bedroom window. The wisps coalesced into the translucent form of a dragon, about four feet long, which began to prowl around the room.

_Potter and Granger are looking for you. I don’t know how much they know, I don’t know how they figured out you’re alive. I didn’t tell them anything. They might go to Father. Change locations if you can._

Having delivered its message, the dragon gazed at him until it faded into nothing. Severus frowned. Potter _and_ Granger? Why on earth would the witch be looking for him? Potter he could somewhat understand; a lifetime of memories thrust into a person’s head in twenty minutes might unbalance anyone. The boy probably wanted answers that Severus wasn’t prepared to give. But Granger? Well, Potter had always needed a hand, in everything from homework to Horcruxes -- maybe she was helping him out. 

Whatever they were up to, Severus wanted nothing to do with either of them. Their quest would turn out to be fruitless, if he had anything to say about it. He packed his meagre belongings and plotted his route to a safe-house in Romania-- the House of Gavriil Buzatu on Manta Roșie, in Iași County. 

Maybe the land of his mother’s family would offer an end to his suffering.

* * *

Lucius Malfoy stared at Harry Potter and Hermione Granger, seated across from him in a secluded room in the bowels of the Ministry. Being an Auror gave Potter certain privileges, apparently, such as the ability to secure a chamber within the very Ministry itself, where he could do as he wished. 

Arrogant brat.

“I assume you wish to speak with me?” Lucius drawled, uncomfortable with being summoned like a house elf. “I do have other responsibilities.”

“Trying to ban Centaurs from the Dark Forest doesn’t count,” Granger responded. “Neither does your attempt to stop the pending legislation preventing the segregation of Muggle-borns, Halfbloods and Pure-bloods.” 

If Potter was an arrogant brat, that filthy Granger was not even fit to be mud on his expensive dragon-hide boot. “The Wizengamot have not made a decision. I am well within my rights to provide opposing arguments so that our culture is not diluted beyond recall.”

Granger rolled her eyes, but Potter leaned forward. “Your crusade to further Voldemort’s ideology _will_ fail, regardless.”

Lucius flinched internally at the Dark Lord’s name. The boy wouldn’t use it so casually if he knew the harm it could do if invoked. “Will it?” He smirked. “There are others who still think _you_ are the true enemy, Potter.”

Potter narrowed his eyes and Lucius was sure he was about to issue a scathing rebuttal, but Granger’s next words made his blood freeze.

“Why can’t Draco tell us where Snape is?”

Lucius broke out in a cold sweat. Better to answer or feign ignorance? Either could put Draco’s life in danger.

“Well?” Granger insisted. 

Bloody swot. “I’m not sure what you’re asking.” Ignorance it was.

Granger stood and walked around the table to bend low. Her voice was harsh, perhaps even a trifle threatening. “We know Draco is restrained by an Unbreakable Vow.” She leaned closer, her lips almost touching his face. “He was quite nervous when we asked for the whereabouts of Snape. Although it looked like he was _dying_ to tell us.”

Lucius closed his eyes. Once a brother-in-arms, Snape had saved Lucius and his family many times. But now, Lucius had nothing but contempt for the wizard who had placed a death oath on his son. Though he himself was not part of the vow, he wondered how much he could say without endangering Draco. Unbreakable oaths could be tricky things -- if he revealed something Draco had told him, would the Vow consider Draco the guilty one? 

“Pendle Hill,” Lucius hissed finally, with a glare. “That was his last location, but that was years ago. I have no idea if he is still there.”

Potter crossed his arms. “How do I know you’re telling the truth?”

Lucius gave him an incredulous look. “Then why in the name of Merlin’s arse are you here to question me? If you refuse to believe me, then this meeting is pointless.” 

He stood abruptly, causing Granger to step back. He straightened the lapels of his ornate robes and turned to leave. Once again, it was Granger (curse the girl!) who made him pause.

“Snape can remove the vow.”

“Hermione, what’re--”

“How do you know this?” Lucius demanded. He would take any opportunity to release Draco from that bloody vow. 

Granger twisted her fingers. The witch was actually nervous. Oh, he could use this. 

“I did some research after we spoke with Draco, and--”

“You spoke to my son about Snape?” Lucius thundered. “You could have killed him!”

“Well, we didn’t know until we talked to him, did we?” Granger pointed out with infuriating logic.

Lucius would have said more on the subject, but the tip of Potter’s wand was at his throat. “We didn’t hurt Draco, Malfoy. He didn’t say anything that would put him in jeopardy.”

“How do you know?” Lucius gritted out. 

“He was still breathing when we left him.”

“A near thing, I’m sure!”

Granger approached while Potter kept him pinned. “Snape can reverse the vow,” she repeated. “But we need to find him to do it. If you help me find him--”

“Hermione!”

“If you help me find Snape, Malfoy,” Granger continued, ignoring Potter’s dismay, “I will convince him to release Draco from the vow.”

“No, Hermione, I won’t let you do this!”

Lucius glanced between the two foolish Gryffindors. Long ago, he had surmised the reason for Potter’s success in defeating the Dark Lord: one Miss Hermione Granger, though he was loath to admit it. From Draco’s grumblings about her, Lucius had pieced together that it was she whose practical magic had kept them all alive during their journey. A force to be reckoned with, certainly. If Potter thought he was going to curtail Granger’s plan, the boy had another think coming. 

He was proven correct when the annoying witch turned her chin up in a mullish tilt. “You won’t ‘let’ me do anything, Harry. I didn’t ask your permission, and I don’t need it. If Lucius can help, I’ll use him.” She turned back to Lucius with a pointed look. “You lead me to Snape and in return I’ll help you free Draco. Is that arrangement Slytherin enough for you?”

He heard Potter splutter, but his attention was focused on Granger. “Perfect,” he said, his smile full of teeth.

* * *

Hermione stuffed several changes of clothing and a few other necessities, including the Prophecy Record (ensconced in a Cushioning Charm) and the cobalt jar of vipertooth venom, into her bottomless knapsack, a variation on her beaded bag with the Undetectable Extension Charm. She did her best to ignore Harry’s ranting in the background.

“Are you bloody insane? This is Lucius Malfoy! He won’t hesitate to kill you the first chance he gets!” He ran his fingers through his messy hair and pulled at the ends. “Not only is there Snape to worry about, but now we’ve got fucking Malfoy too!”

She gave him an exasperated look. “Malfoy is too worried about Draco to do anything to jeopardise this mission.”

“Oh, it’s a mission now? If that’s the case, then I should be going with you, not Lucius.”

“Harry.” She grabbed hold of his arm as he passed by her, pacing distractedly. “Harry, listen to me.” She shook him a little. “I need you here, in the Ministry, doing your job. I’ve taken a leave of absence, told them I’ve got an issue with my parents in the Muggle world. I need you to make sure no one suspects where I’m going… and who I’m trying to find.”

“But I could--”

“No,” she said firmly and pulled him into a hug. “You have to let me do this on my own. You already saved the wizarding world, Harry.” She leaned back and rubbed her thumb over his scar. “Let me be the one to try this time, yes?”

Tears fringed Harry’s lashes. “I swear, if he lifts a wand in your direction…”

“Then I’ll hex his balls off,” she assured with a grin.

Harry sniffed a laugh. “You’d better.”

* * *

Next morning, dressed warmly to keep out the late-October chill, Hermione boarded the train to Salisbury in Wiltshire with Harry in tow. He’d demanded to at least accompany her on the first leg of the journey and she didn’t have the heart to deny him. Lucius had suggested they travel via Muggle means; knowing Snape, he would be aware of any magic used in his vicinity and possibly flee before they could reach him. Hence the train. She had a feeling she would return (if she returned at all) a very changed person, and she wanted to indulge in her bond with Harry a bit more before that happened.

“How’s Ron doing?” she asked, making idle conversation as the scenery passed by.

Harry blinked out of his reverie. “I heard he’s started seeing Hannah Abbott. Raved about her Yorkshire pudding.”

Hermione smiled to herself. It figured that Ron was interested in someone who would feed him up. “You think it’ll go anywhere?”

Harry leaned in and whispered, “He said her cooking was better than his mum’s, if that tells you anything.”

“Oh, my! Love at first bite!” 

They both laughed, then sobered quickly. “Neville and Luna are getting on like a house on fire,” he added.

That warmed Hermione’s heart. They were both so alike in temperament. She was glad that even though they had all been through unspeakable tragedy, there was some hope for the future.

“And you? What about you and Ginny?”

Harry’s expression fell and he gazed out the window. “I haven’t seen her in a couple months.”

“Why not? I mean, I know she’s touring with the Holyhead Harpies, but--”

“I - I don’t know, Hermione. I’m just…” He sighed. “I have a hard time being around people that weren’t in the thick of it, you know?”

She did, unfortunately. Screaming nightmares and failed relationships plagued all three of them, and she was secretly relieved that Ron had found someone who brought him some measure of peace. While Ginny and the others had been involved in the war, they hadn’t seen firsthand what a Horcrux could do to a person who already had Voldemort inside his head. It was a constant wonder to her that Harry was as sane as he was. Or at least appeared; perhaps what he showed everyone (including her on some days) was a carefully crafted facade. 

She reached over, grabbed his hand, and squeezed. “No matter what happens, Harry, I’ll always have your back. You’re my best friend and I love you. If you want to be with someone, or even no one, I’ll support you, no questions asked.”

He gave her a tremulous smile. “Love you, too. It’s why I’m beyond worried about this trip.”

She couldn’t say the words that would allay his fears; she would be lying and Harry had had enough of liars in his life. “How about this: if I run into any trouble that I can’t deal with on my own, I’ll find a way to contact you. Does that sound fair?”

He didn’t answer. The train was pulling into the station. Soon he’d be travelling back to London and she and Lucius would be on their way to Lancashire. She was worried he would do something rash if she didn’t offer some sort of compromise. 

“Harry?” she prompted.

As the train came to a stop, she spied Lucius Malfoy on the platform, sneer firmly in place. Harry released her hand and they started to disembark. She was becoming worried at Harry’s continued silence.

“Harry!” she said urgently. “Talk to me!”

He turned and gave her a smile that reminded her why the Dark Lord had been right to fear the young wizard. It spoke of the darkness that everyone had inside themselves, but Harry was a little too attuned to that power; his smile suggested that he could tap into it with great ease. It frightened her a bit.

He tugged her along to the door of the car and they alighted onto the platform. As they reached Lucius he sniffed, and the three of them began walking past the pillars that supported the roof and into the main part of the station. “I trust your journey was… without incident?” he said coldly,

“I’m honestly surprised you agreed to meet us in such a Muggle place,” Harry said, glancing around.

Lucius shrugged, clearly uneasy around so many Muggles. “Since Miss Granger and I are to catch another train shortly, I thought it would save time.” He gave them a calculating look. “Forgive me for being practical.” 

Hermione was about to say something cutting about how thoughtful Malfoy was being, but Harry took Lucius by the arm and pulled him into the nearest toilet. 

“Harry!” Hermione whispered urgently. “What are you doing?”

He pulled her into the cramped room as well. “Making sure you come back.”

Lucius jerked his arm free “What--”

“Shut it, Malfoy!”

Harry waved his wand and the door slammed shut and locked itself. He was livid, menacing. “You _will_ make sure she returns safely!”

Lucius held up his hands. “Do I have a choice?”

“Harry, what are you--”

“Swear it!” Harry growled. “Make an Unbreakable Vow!”

Hermione and Lucius both inhaled sharply. “Harry, no!” 

“Potter, have you lost what’s left of your mind?”

Harry seized Hermione’s hand in a grip so tight it hurt, and forced Lucius’ hand into hers. “Do it!” he said through gritted teeth. “If you value your pathetic life, swear to bring her back home!”

“Harry,” she pleaded, choking up with tears. “Don’t do this! I don’t want it!”

“Swear!” Harry nearly bellowed, ignoring Hermione’s plea.

Lucius swallowed. “Miss Granger is--”

“I’ll kill Draco myself, Lucius,” Harry promised. “I’ll finish what I started at Hogwarts.”

“Harry!” Hermione screamed. “No!” She tried to wrench her hand out of Lucius’ grasp, but it wouldn’t budge. “You’re not like this, Harry. Stop!”

Lucius took a shaky breath, clearly unnerved. “Best do as Mr Potter wishes, Miss Granger. He does seem in a particularly foul mood.”

Had she had the presence of mind, she would’ve stowed her wand somewhere on her person. But she had packed it in her knapsack, thinking to retrieve it before meeting Malfoy. Now, she cursed her lack of foresight. She could’ve used it on Harry, to snap him out of whatever held him in its grip.

“Harry, listen to me,” she pleaded again. She slapped him lightly on the cheek with her free hand. “Listen!” When he finally turned his attention to her, she grimaced at the unnatural light she saw in his eyes. “Please,” she whispered. “Don’t do this. You don’t need a vow! Lucius wouldn’t do anything to endanger Draco. Would you?” She looked at Lucius and he gave a hesitant nod. “See? If you make us do this, it could put everything in jeopardy! You already put a Tracking Charm on both of us.” At Harry’s surprised look, she snorted mirthlessly. “You think I didn’t know when you did that? I know your magic. I also know that it will alert you if something goes wrong.” Finally she pried her hand out of Lucius’ grip and took Harry’s face between her palms. “Harry, love, don’t do this to me, to Lucius. Haven’t we all suffered enough?”

Harry blinked several times, then gulped in a breath, tears springing to his eyes. “I - I’m sorry, Hermione. I just...”

“I know.” She pulled him into a tight hug. “But you have to trust me.”

He nodded against her shoulder, his fingers digging into her back. “You have to come back,” he choked out. 

“I suppose if I’m lost along the way, it’s of no matter?” Lucius muttered sardonically. 

Hermione extricated herself and turned to Malfoy. “Shut up, Malfoy, or I’ll let Harry do it.”

Lucius paled. “I’ll be quiet as a Niffler in a jewelry shop.”

“That won’t last long,” she countered as she took in Harry’s state. “Are you going to be okay?”

Harry shrugged, all the fight drained out of him. “No, but that seems to be standard at this point in my life.” 

_”The 6:04 Salisbury to Preston, Lancashire, now boarding on platform six”_

The overhead announcement startled all three of them. Hermione unlocked the toilet door, ignoring the curious looks from nearby Muggles as they filed out of the room. She was sure that far more nefarious things had been done in the toilets at train stations.

She adjusted the strap of her knapsack, taking a moment to retrieve her wand in the process. Lucius saw her do so, and he boarded the train quickly. She watched him through the windows as he found seats for them, then turned to Harry and pressed the tip of her wand against his side.

“Don’t ever do that to me again, Harry,” she said with lethal intent. “I love you dearly, but you will _never_ threaten me again. Are we clear?”

He had the grace to look ashamed. “Crystal,” he managed, sounding raw. “I’m sorry, I just…”

“Didn’t want to lose someone else.”

He nodded and covered his eyes, his shoulders shaking with sobs. “I’ve lost so much. If I lost you or Ron, I… I don’t want to think about what I would do.”

She pulled him close and kissed his forehead. “I’ll come back, I promise.” 

_Final boarding call for 06:04 Salisbury to Preston, Lancashire._

Harry straightened and cleared his throat. “Go on, you. You’ll be late to save the wizarding world.” He gave her a sad smile. “Don’t be gone too long.”

Now she was starting to cry. Bloody hell. “I’ll try not to.” She spared a glance at Lucius. “Besides, baby-sitting his royal arseness is a trial I don’t intend to suffer for an extended period of time if I can help it.”

They didn’t say good-bye, but it was implied just the same. 

Hermione took her seat across from Lucius in the first-class section of the train. A private compartment. Of course, the posh git would reserve the classiest accommodations possible. She waved at Harry as the train slowly pulled away from the station.

Lucius eyed her “Are you and Mr Potter…?”

“No,” she said quickly. “He’s like a brother to me.”

“Ah.” Lucius studied her. “Are you involved with anyone, then?”

She frowned at him, ruffled. “And why is that any of your business?”

He gave her a calculating smile. “No one up to snuff, as they say? No one to mourn your life, should you lose it?”

“Bold words from a wizard whose only prodigy’s life is hanging in a precarious balance. Tell me, is Draco seeing anyone?”

Lucius’ smile turned to a sneer. “As if I’d tell a Mudblood the details of my son’s love life.”

She snorted and waved him off. “Your insults are tiring, Lucius. Society has--”

“This precious notion you have of the wizarding world changing just because the Dark Lord is gone is woefully deluded. Tom Riddle was a symptom of the state of our world, not the cause. Relieving that symptom does not mean you have cured the disease.”

“How apt to describe him as a disease.”

“Diseases are a useful tool. They get rid of the weak.”

She’d had enough of his bigotry and hateful rhetoric. Keeping her eyes on his face, she produced five blue flames without using her wand, and let them roll over her fingers. “Fire cleanses as well,” she mused, giving him a pointed look. “More volatile. But just as effective.”

His eyebrows raised to his hairline. “You’re a pyromancer.”

“Among other things.” She wordlessly extinguished the flames and sat back. “Can we please agree to a truce? I don’t want to listen about how you hate Mudbloods or Muggle-borns. And I’m sure you want to keep your hair.”

He touched the top of his head. “You wouldn’t dare!”

She tapped her wand on her thigh. “Try me.”

“Agreed,” he said quickly. 

Neither of them added, “For now,” but it was implied on both sides.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Information on Gavrill Buzatu of Romania, courtesy of BeffeySue on LiveJournal: Gavriil Buzatu - from the horseman, to the monastic robe  
> https://translate.google.com/translate?hl=en&sl=ro&u=https://doxologia.ro/viata-bisericii/documentar/gavriil-buzatu-de-la-securea-calaului-la-haina-monahala&prev=search


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things begin to get dicey. A bit of horror as well.

In a rare moment of idleness at Hogwarts, Hagrid had taken the time to teach Severus how to speak to Thestrals, how to approach them, and most importantly, how to treat them. They were fussy, moody creatures, but unbelievably gentle when handled with respect. They had been much maligned in the wizarding world, but so had Severus, so he had felt an affinity for them. Their leathery wings spread wide, like a flying fox or bat, an ability he often emulated. Now, too weak to Apparate or fly himself, Severus determined to put the brief training to use with the Thestral herd that roamed high atop Pendle Hill. 

He coaxed a younger one away with two freshly killed ferrets, and stroked its neck while it ate. Once it had finished its meal, he climbed atop its bony back, a leather case slung over his shoulder containing all his possessions. Stroking its sleek body to settle its nervous side-stepping, Severus leaned down and whispered in its ear, “I won’t demean you with some silly name that you’ll forget the moment you’re rid of me, but I would greatly appreciate being taken to Romania.”

As they leaped and became airborne, Severus gasped; he'd forgotten Thestrals moved so fast. They streaked over the forests, its wide wings hardly beating. He relished the cool air flowing over him, so used to the heat that always crawled through his veins. For a moment he was able to relax, to let go of the tension that was his constant companion. When he spied the familiar White Cliffs, he closed his eyes and placed his trust in the Thestral to get him to safety.

* * *

“You do realise that Snape is more likely to hex you than allow you to help him, yes?”

Hermione glanced at Lucius then returned her attention to Eileen Prince’s journal. “I’m quite aware of that possibility.”

She could feel him staring at her. If she were a first year, she would have been uneasy, if not downright frightened. Now, though? Maybe it was odd, but she thought of him as a defanged dragon, put out to pasture long before its time. There was no doubt that Lucius Malfoy was still as deadly a wizard as he had been during the war. But there was also a weariness about him; still an opportunist, no doubt, but more wary of which opportunities he seized. 

“I’m curious. How did you find out he was alive?”

She tensed. There was no way she was telling him about the Prophecy; he'd nearly killed Harry (and several others) for _that_ Prophecy. No telling what he would do if he found out about this one, safely stowed in her knapsack. 

Instead of answering his question, she posed one of her own. “What do you know about Eileen Prince?”

Lucius pondered for a moment. “Tragic case, really. Severus isn’t a bastard, technically, but only because her family forced her to marry due to her becoming pregnant. Myself, I would have thought the shame of a Muggle son-in-law far worse than that of unwed motherhood...”

She narrowed her eyes. “And Snape told you all this, did he?”

“We are -- or were -- friends, you know," he reminded her coldly. "Besides, the Prince family are Purebloods, Miss Granger. I made it my business to know the ins and outs of all Pureblood families.”

“Of course you did.” _And probably still do._ She bit her bottom lip. “Is she still alive?”

He frowned. “I highly doubt it. After his third year, she never accompanied Severus to the platform in London when he left for Hogwarts. I imagine Severus’ father beat out whatever life was left in her. Severus was definitely changed from then on, more involved in other... _activities_ , if you know what I mean.”

She nodded. “Seems a likely catalyst to push him over the edge.”

Lucius snorted. “Severus has always had a darkness about him, long before he met the Dark Lord. Why do you think he was a trusted servant, right to the very end?”

“He excelled at duplicity.”

“That is an understatement.”

“Were you truly friends?”

Lucius turned his gaze to the window again. “I believe so. He was a bit aimless at first; fighting off the incessant prodding and jeers from Potter and his lot, so I took him under my wing. He absorbed things quickly, especially anything to do with Potions. He may have been newly quit of Hogwarts when he became a professor, but he had more than earned the title by his genius at brewing and concocting all manner of things.”

She gave him a small smile. “You sound like you’re proud of him.”

“I am,” he confirmed. “Why wouldn't I be? He was a credit to Slytherin house.” He stared at her. “If Severus is still alive, it’s through his own will, his own cunning. A more stubborn person I’ve never met.”

“On that, we are in agreement.” She pulled two apples from her bag and offered Lucius one, but he waved it away. “Afraid of germs, Malfoy?”

“Nothing so dull, I simply had a large breakfast and am not hungry at the moment.”

She shrugged and bit into the crisp, sweet flesh. “What does Narcissa think of you going on this trip?”

He looked resigned. “She was the one who encouraged the bloody idea.”

“What? Why?”

Lucius curled his lip. “She feels she owes it to Snape in repayment for the Unbreakable Vow she forced him into, to keep Draco safe. If he’s mortally wounded or some such rot, I am therefore obligated to provide as much aid as possible.” 

“Smart witch, your wife,” she said with a smirk. 

“You have no idea.” He smiled, and it looked oddly charming and deadly at the same time. “Did you know she defied the Dark Lord when Potter was struck down in the Dark Forest?”

Hermione swallowed, hard. “N-no.” She cleared her throat. Harry had never told her what happened that night, but she knew it haunted him. “How? More importantly, why?”

Lucius hesitated, as if uncomfortable recalling the events, then said, “The Dark Lord had cast a Killing Curse from across the clearing, and as expected, Potter collapsed. He sent Narcissa to check to see if there were any signs of life. Obviously, as subsequent events proved, there were, but she called out to the Dark Lord that he was quite dead. She asked Potter to find Draco and to get him out safely in exchange for her deception.”

“Wow,” she said slowly. “You Slytherins really do seize any opportunity to further your own agenda.”

The smile fell from Lucius’ face. “Be grateful Narcissa had the forethought to save your precious Potter, and that they were far enough from the Dark Lord to whisper unheard, or else you might very well be in the clutches of Death Eaters as we speak.”

“Aren’t I, though?” she asked, looking at him pointedly.

He glared at her. “I haven’t worn my mask in years. And if I’d wanted to kill you, I would’ve found other means.”

“Thank Merlin for small mercies.” 

“You really are disagreeable. No wonder you’re single.”

She rolled her eyes and finished off the apple. “Lucky me.” 

They were quiet for a time until Lucius asked, “Once we find Snape, what will be my role in this fiasco?”

She smirked. “As you said, he’s more likely to hex us than allow us to come near him. I plan to use you as a shield so they’ll hit you first.” She shrugged. “He’ll get tired eventually. Then I can deal with him.”

He gaped, nonplussed. “If you think I’m just going to--”

“Oh, calm down, Malfoy. I wasn’t actually serious.” She couldn’t help but laugh at his look of indignation. “To be honest, I don’t know. We’ll have to evaluate the situation once we find him.”

“ _We_ will do no such thing. If you want to play nursemaid to the Dark Lord’s right-hand man, you are free to do so. I value my life more than the hedge-born scut.” 

She put the book to the side and crossed her arms, her hackles raised on Snape’s behalf. “I thought you were friends. Weren’t you responsible for introducing him to Voldemort?”

“Don’t say that name!” Lucius hissed. 

“Voldemort,” she retorted, secretly pleased at the shiver of revulsion that made Lucius swallow and close his eyes. “You let that name have power over you. Any fear you still have, you yourself give to it.”

She regretted her taunt when Lucius opened his eyes and turned to stare out the window, a pained and wounded look in his gaze. He didn’t respond to her accusations, just sat in silence watching the horizon change from splashes of red to a dark grey as the day became overcast.

Several hours passed in this fashion and Hermione didn’t press the wizard who sat across from her. She returned to leafing through Eileen’s journal, hoping to find any mention of Severus, her family, the Prophecy… anything.

“Severus convinced Riddle to free me from Azkaban,” Lucius said finally, the murmured words startling Hermione from her reading. “I didn’t know whether to be grateful or to hex him on the spot.” He turned to her and rolled up his left sleeve, and bearing a faded Dark Mark. “Understand clearly, Miss Granger, that once this was branded onto your skin, you were the Dark Lord’s puppet, his servant to do his bidding. He owned you, body and soul. You didn’t exist, except as a vessel for his wishes. Your life was secondary, at best, usually not even that. Say his name, and he would find you. Call him with a touch of your wand to the Mark, and he would have his claws round your neck before you could offer a greeting.” He sat back and let the sleeve drop. “Defy him and you died. You and your loved ones’ lives were forfeit, though not until he was done using you.” 

Hermione studied him for a moment. “You’re truly glad he’s gone, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” Lucius said quickly. “I despise him for what he did to my family.”

“Loyalty in public gave you leverage in private.”

Lucius nodded slowly. “As long as I was seen to support him, my family lived.”

“You do realise that Snape was in a far more precarious position, almost the entirety of his life? He made sure you and your family were safe, especially Draco. You may not have had the luxuries you were used to, but you were alive.”

Lucius arched a brow. “You certainly have a high opinion of him, given that you, Potter and Weasley were the bane of his existence.”

She felt the blush crawl up her neck. “Goethe said you can judge the character of a man by how he treats those who can do nothing for him. It says a lot about Snape that he protected Harry, even risked his own life, even though he hated him. It’s one thing to help someone you care about; it’s quite another to help someone you can’t stand. I’m guessing that not many wizards or witches did much for Snape, yet despite that, he worked in secret to protect them, as well as us, as a member of the Order of the Phoenix and a double agent. That last year, after Dumbledore died, everyone at Hogwarts hated him, yet he stayed on in order to do what he could to protect the students against the Carrows. All that in addition to keeping Harry safe.”

“He kept watch over Potter as atonement for the Evans witch,” Lucius said with a snort. “Snape is far from magnanimous.” 

“I know that,” she huffed. “And Dumbledore kept him on a short leash so he’d never forget his duty.”

“Dumbledore could be quite cruel when things didn’t go according to his machinations.”

“Oh, I’m familiar with his manipulative tendencies.”

“I’m sure you were, being in close proximity to Potter.” 

A silence settled between them, neither wanting to expound on what had happened during the war. But one thing was nagging Hermione. “I don't see your cane - where are you keeping your wand these days?" It was well known that Lucius had kept his wand within the walking stick. 

Lucius grimaced. He reached into his cloak lapel pocket and withdrew a short wand of dark wood. It looked stunted and plain, not at all something one would associate with Lucius Malfoy. 

“This is what’s left of it.” He flicked swished and flicked, but nothing happened. “Riddle confiscated it from me and snapped it.” He looked at it like it had died. “It’s quite useless.”

She couldn’t help feeling a twinge of sympathy. “Then why do you keep it? Didn’t the Ministry allow you another?”

In response, he delved into another, deeper pocket within his cloak and pulled out a long, sturdy wand of some lighter wood with an emerald inlay on the grip. “Aspen,” he says. “Dragon heartstring. Good for independence, accomplishments, and focus.” 

Unnervingly it looked a lot like her own. “Are you accustomed to it yet?”

He flicked it and all the lights in the rail car went out. A swish, and they came back on. “It complements me in ways my old one didn’t. Perhaps, intrinsically, I’ve changed, which would have necessitated a different wand in the long run.” He pocketed it and withdrew the remains of his old wand. “This has known only pain and suffering. It has caused innumerable tragedies, ones for which I accept full responsibility. But it is still a part of me, and I am not ready to relinquish my past just yet.”

“You’re a very complex wizard, Lucius Malfoy.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Thank you, Miss Granger. I take that as a compliment.”

* * *

After Severus dismounted from the Thestral and sent it to find food, he walked through the ancient Prince family safe house. The family had used it just before the Statute of Secrecy came into effect, hiding in plain sight. It had seen better days, that much was clear. He didn’t dare fix things up too much; sudden activity would draw attention, which he didn’t need, Muggle or otherwise.

He descended to the ground floor and tidied up a bit, creating a small, livable space for himself. The effort sapped him of what little strength he had left, and he realised he hadn’t eaten that day. He cast a charm to repair the plumbing within the structure, and sighed in relief when he turned the tap on in the kitchen and water flowed, albeit in spurts and sputters. He transfigured a broken cupboard door into a cup and summoned a few apples from the surrounding orchard. He drank down the water quickly, refilled it and drank again. He did this several times, feeling like he could never quench his thirst. When he bit into the small green apple, however, his stomach rejected it immediately. This was why he hadn’t eaten in the past day - food seemed to hold a sort of revulsion to him. Certain smells were tantalising, while others he couldn’t escape quickly enough. He’d hoped that it would pass, but evidently it had not.

He ran his tongue over his slightly elongated canines. Was he supposed to drink blood now? Like a vampire? A rustling sound and a squeak caught his attention, and he spied a plump rat near the door to the cellar. Compulsion drove him to snatch the creature up and bite hard until its struggles stopped. Horrified, Severus pulled the rat away from his mouth, shuddered in disgust, and flung it out the window. 

At least vampires had standards. What Severus had just done made him contemplate whether he should keep going at all.

* * *

Hermione and Lucius alighted at the railway station in Preston in Lancashire and headed to another train that would take them to Pendle Hill. It was a brief trip, the scenery full of sweeping landscapes and brooding skies. When they disembarked in Pendle Hill, they made their way to the outskirts of town, towards the large hill itself. At the base stood a crumbling tower, a folly rather. It was surrounded by copses of twisted trees, stone walls, and hedges that marked off property lines.

It was quite apparent that nobody was living there, wizard or Muggle.

“Are you sure this is where he lived?” she asked, scanning the area.

“I can’t guarantee this is where he _stayed_. I couldn’t ask Draco, if you remember.” He gave her a droll look. “But I’m fairly certain this is where he was for a time, at least. I had shown him Malkin Tower as a safe house when he first joined our ranks.”

“Malkin Tower?” she snorted. “You realise that’s local slang for whorehouse.”

Lucius stared at her. “What? It does not--”

“The seventeenth century word ‘malkin’ means ‘slattern or slut.’ It’s basically, loosely translated as, whorehouse.”

“You’re not disagreeable; you’re abhorrent.”

She laughed and entered the dilapidated structure. She followed the winding staircase up to the topmost floor, searching all the rooms on the way. Some looked like they hadn’t been touched in aeons, others had clearly been occupied in the not-too-distant past. One was covered in splatters of blood.

The lone bedroom held a single, rickety bed, the bedclothes rumpled. Streaks of blood led from the bed down the short hallway and into a loo. The cupboards in the bathroom were empty, but the shelves were free of dust. Dust tells a thousand stories, she’d once read. Lack of dust told its own tale. The mirror was shattered and the shards lay scattered in the sink. There was blood there as well. 

“If there is any blood left in him, I would be surprised,” Lucius said behind her, making her start. At her frown, he explained, “Nagini’s venom contained a powerful anticoagulant that thinned a victim’s blood to the point they bled out.”

That put all the blood evidence in perspective. “He’s been bleeding to death for three years,” she pointed out. 

“As I said before, if he’s still alive, it’s because he knows how to brew the potions to counteract it.”

“Where the hell is he, then?” she snapped, frustrated. “We’re running out of time!”

Lucius arched a brow. “Are you forgetting that you are a witch?”

Too flustered to pay attention to what he was saying, Hermione started to pace, trying to think how to find out where Severus had gone. “How did he know we were coming?” she muttered under her breath. 

Lucius put a hand on her arm and stopped her. “For someone who is purported to be the smartest witch of her age, you are being remarkably dense at the moment.” He withdrew his new wand. “ _Magicae Vestigium_ ,” he intoned, and a shower of gold swirled in the room, illuminating the residual magic that Snape had left behind. A trail of boot marks led towards the stairs.

“A variation of a Tracking Charm. Instead of just keeping an eye on some witch or wizard, this spell reveals and illuminates traces of recent magical activity in the area, and shows magical footprints and tracks.”

Fascinated, Hermione followed the footsteps down the stairs and out the door, Lucius close behind her. The trail led them up the steep hill, ending in a grove where a herd of Thestrals resided. The gold swirl surrounded the herd for a moment, then arced off across the sky.

“He’s using Thestrals,” she breathed. “He probably couldn’t Apparate.” She turned to Lucius, excited. “We can ride Thestrals to where he is!”

A look of horror crossed Lucius’ face. “Are you mad? How do we know they didn’t just drop him somewhere and make a meal of him?”

“Thestrals are scavengers, Malfoy,” she said as she warily approached one of the large creatures. “Like buzzards or condors. They don’t hunt or kill. They’d only be interested in Snape if he was already dead, lying in a field somewhere.”

“How do we know he isn’t?” Lucius pointed out, backing away from a foal that had taken an interest in him.

“He’s not.” She stroked the neck of the one she had chosen. “Don’t worry. These creatures are gentle. They’re a bit like Hippogriffs; treat them with respect and they remain loyal to you.”

“Draco was mauled by a Hippogriff. Not the best example.” He froze as the foal nudged at his pockets.

“Draco was an arse that day, Malfoy. They way he treated Buckbeak, he was lucky he only got a scratch.” She swung herself onto the bony back of the Thestral. “Come on. We need to follow the trail before it dissipates.” 

Lucius paled at the hand she offered to him. “Technically,” he swallowed, “I fulfilled my promise - I helped you find Snape. All you need to do is follow the trail. You don’t need me.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Are you afraid of… heights?”

“What? That’s preposterous. Who do you think taught Draco how to fly?”

“Then what is your problem?”

He pinched the bridge of his nose. “I agreed to this stunt because I didn’t think we were going to be leaving the UK. It may have escaped your notice, but I’m still bound by the Ministry’s order to not leave these shores. Plus,” he waved his hand at the Thestral, “these are a Class 4X beast, meaning they’re dangerous. Why they respond to you is beyond me.”

“Because I’m a decent person and they sense that?”

“Yes, you’re a paragon of virtue,” Lucius deadpanned.

“Stuff it, Malfoy. Harry had the Ministry remove your restrictions before we met up with you. Get on. I won’t let you fall.”

He stared at her, thunderstruck. “Why didn’t you tell me?” he growled, even as he grabbed her hand and swung himself up behind her.

She looked at him over her shoulder and smiled. “Harry said it was my choice whether I told you or not. You looked so terrified I decided to have pity on you.” She leaned forward and asked the Thestral to please follow the gold shimmering trail. The creature immediately took to the skies.

Lucius’ scream could be heard for miles.


	6. Chapter 6

“Mr Potter, what an unexpected surprise.”

Harry nodded politely at McGonagall. “You’re looking well, Headmistress.”

She waved his compliment away. “You’ve arrived between disasters. The new Muggle Studies professor keeps delving into the American witch trials and ends up traumatising her students with graphic descriptions. Meanwhile, Slughorn seems to be becoming a bit dotty in his later years -- there was an explosion in the dungeons a week ago, and poor Mr Fawcett still hasn’t been able to restore his hair.”

Harry chuckled. “Hairless all over?”

McGonagall shuddered. “Like a baby’s bum.” She studied him over her glasses. “Is this an official visit, or…?”

“Or,” Harry said with a lopsided grin. He supposed he gave off that impression, since he was wearing his Auror robes. “Is it possible to speak with Dumbledore’s portrait?”

She paused before answering. “Of course, dear boy. Is something amiss?”

He feigned nonchalance. “No, just catching up.”

She frowned a bit. “He’s in the antechamber. He’s a meddlesome nosy-parker; I had to move him because he couldn’t keep his opinions to himself. It became nerve-wracking.”

“I can imagine,” Harry said with a laugh. “Always had his fingers in too many pots.”

McGonagall eyed him speculatively. “Mmm, quite.” She stood and made her way around the desk to lead him to the chamber where he and Dumbledore had spent many a time strategizing and plotting, the closet containing the Pensieve on the far side. “I was just on my way to deal with another mishap; Miss Granger seems to have left a lasting impression and several of the fourth year Hufflepuffs have taken it upon themselves to try and liberate the whole of the house-elves before lunch.” She gave a put-upon sigh. “Admirable, if a bit misguided.”

Harry stared at her. “It’s never misguided to want someone to have their freedom.”

She was brought up short. “No, I agree. But I’m talking about timing, Mr. Potter.” She frowned again. “Are you sure you’re all right?”

He blinked rapidly. “Yes, yes. Just… tired,” he said, half-heartedly.

She patted him on the cheek, lightly swiping a thumb against the purple smudges under his eyes. “You push yourself too hard, my dear. Will you stay for lunch?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe.” To be honest, his appetite had been a bit worrisome lately.

“Think about it.” She gave an additional pat and left the room.

Dumbledore’s portrait was tucked in an alcove near the Pensieve wardrobe. Hearing gentle snores, Harry approached it cautiously. “Professor?”

Dumbledore came awake in an instant. “Harry, my boy! How are you?”

Harry tried to be jovial for his old mentor’s sake, but he was so very tired of the deceptions surrounding everything in his life. “I’ve been better,” he admitted. “I need to ask you some questions.”

Dumbledore's expression immediately became shuttered. “Yes, of course. How can I help you?”

“My Prophecy…” Harry started, hoping Dumbledore would take the hint and expand on it.

The wizard nodded thoughtfully. “You fulfilled it admirably.”

When he didn’t add anything further, Harry steeled himself. It was to be a struggle then? So be it. “There was more, wasn’t there, sir.” It wasn’t a question.

Dumbledore frowned. “More?”

Harry tapped his wand against the gilt frame. “Yes, more. More to the Prophecy. More that Trelawney said. More that Severus Snape didn’t hear. ”

“Harry, I don’t know what--”

“Don’t lie,” he hissed in Parseltongue. “You knew how to manipulate me, how to corner Snape to do your bidding. For once, treat me like the wizard you always said I am.”

Dumbledore’s eyes grew wide. “You still speak Parseltongue. But I thought…”

Harry snorted mirthlessly. “Just because I killed Voldemort doesn’t mean I escaped unscathed.” He rolled his shoulders, his head craning to the side. “Sometimes, I still feel echoes of him. In here.” He tapped his temple. 

“Harry, listen to me--”

“No!” Harry spat. “ _You_ will listen to _me_!” He cast a spell to keep Dumbledore rooted to the spot, unable to escape to another portrait. “Hermione found another Prophecy Record, one that had to do with her and Snape. She found it in Eileen Prince’s possessions. Now how would something so important be lost for such a long time, only to turn up in Snape’s mother’s belongings?”

Dumbledore looked genuinely confused, Harry had to admit. “Another Prophecy? About Snape? Are you sure? Do you have it with you?”

“I don’t, but I memorised it.” He repeated what he had heard.

“Interesting,” Dumbledore muttered, pacing back and forth. “And you’re sure this is concerning Severus?”

Harry felt a bit uneasy at the question. “Hermione seems to think so.”

“Does she. May I see her?”

“She’s not available at the moment. She’s busy.”

Dumbledore gave him a knowing look. “Too busy to speak with me about a Prophecy Record?” He came closer. “Harry, where is she?”

Harry pointed his wand at the painting. “You don’t need to know. Tell me what you know about the prophecy.”

Dumbledore sighed, sat down in his chair, and steepled his fingers. “Harry, I am being completely honest with you; I have no information regarding this record.”

“You must have! It’s Trelawney, she only had proper prophecy trances in your presence.”

“Not that I know of,” Dumbledore amended. “When was this prophecy recorded? Was it before I met her? After? There are many factors, my boy.”

“Not your ‘boy’,” Harry snarled. 

“No,” Dumbledore said sadly. “I imagine not.”

“Where was the prophecy about me recorded?” Harry pressed, ignored the professor’s words. 

“At the Hogs Head. Sybil Trelawney was interviewing for a position. Snape was listening in. As you no doubt know, since you ask about what he overheard.”

Harry frowned. “Hogs Head…” His brain started flying, as if searching for the Snitch. “I swear, I don’t know who is more secretive, you or Aberforth.” He turned and started for the door.

“Harry!” Dumbledore waited until he had Harry’s full attention. “Be careful. Finding what you seek is not always a pleasant experience.”

As Harry shut the door on the Headmaster's portrait, he couldn’t help but agree.

* * *

When they arrived in Romania, Hermione was grateful for the cover of darkness. Once they landed, she and Lucius found themselves in the forest just outside of Strada Manta Roșie. There was a steep, bramble covered path that led from the woods into the village, where she could see paved roads and buildings. The golden glow of the trail was starting to fade, so she bade goodbye to the Thestral and, an unwilling Lucius behind her, began following the faint light where it led. 

“This area is badly in need of a gardener,” Lucius grumbled as he awkwardly stepped through the overgrown brush. 

“Not everyone is as privileged as you, Malfoy,” she retorted. They finally made it to street level. “These people are more worried about their jobs or their next meal than how dense the foliage is.” She turned to glare at him but could only stare. “Oh, erm…”

Lucius frowned. “What?”

She had to bite her lip to keep from laughing. Lucius was, to say the least, windblown. His long, platinum hair was in wild disarray, a few leaves dotting his head and a twig stuck out at an odd angle, making him look as if he had antlers and one was missing.

“Ahem. You might want to…” She pointed at his head. 

He raised his hand and froze at what he felt. He quickly grabbed his wand and cast a _Tergeo_ , ridding himself of the debris. “I suppose I must be grateful you didn’t let me continue without telling me.”

“Yes, you should,” she agreed with a grin. “Though you did look a bit like an Elven king of the forest. But you didn’t hear that from me.”

“Perish the thought,” he assured her.

She started down the barely-lit street, glad it was deserted. They followed the winding path of the golden glow, noticing the closer they came to the end, the more dilapidated the buildings became. The trail stopped at a sprawling four-building estate that was probably listed as condemned by the Muggles. There were no signs that someone was living there. 

“The House of Călăului,” Lucius murmured, studying the outside. “Gavril Buzatu, the ‘last executioner of Moldova’ lived here.”

“How do you know this?” she asked, somewhat stunned.

“I told you, Miss Granger, I know my Pureblood history.” He walked around towards the back, where they found a set of double doors firmly closed. “Gavril Buzatu was a thief who agreed to become the king's executioner, thus escaping his own death sentence. In the first half of the nineteenth century, during the reign of Michael Struza, bands of robbers roamed the forests of Moldova. Buzatu was a member of the most well-known of these, led by a man named Ion Chetrariu. Struza promised a pardon to whomever would cull the forest of these thieves. Buzatu quickly volunteered. He hanged only three people, including his former captain, Ion Chetrariu, before the death sentence was abolished."

"What did he do? Go back to robbing?"

Lucius gave her an ironic smile. "He became a monk."

“Sounds like a charming fellow,” she deadpanned. “But why is Snape here?”

Lucius carefully opened one of the doors. “Because Buzatu is Snape’s ancestor on his mother’s side.”

Any response she might have made was silenced as they entered the main house. They both cast _Lumos Maxima_ and picked their way through the first floor, finding nothing to indicate that Snape was there. Lucius stopped at the base of the grand staircase and peered up through its spiral, as if considering its structural integrity. She was about to join him when she spied a trail of small, mangled animals, mostly rats, rabbits, other woodland creatures.

She followed it to a door that was barely hanging on its hinges. “Lucius,” she whispered. “I think I found--”

Her voice was cut off by a vise-like grip around her throat. “Shee lasso sey nerokasee haseethey!”

She pried frantically at the hand cutting off her air supply, but it was like iron. “Lu…” she managed to choke out, black spots floating in her eyes.

The bright flash of a Stunner sent Snape flying across the hallway. Hermione gasped in heavy gulps, trying to draw in enough air to breathe. 

Lucius came to her and tilted her head to the side to study her neck. “That will leave a mark. Do remember to tell Potter it wasn’t my fault.”

She glared at him for a moment then turned back to Snape. In the dim light he seemed to... slither towards a wall, and push himself upright. Without thinking, she moved towards him but Lucius’ hand on her arm halted her.

“Are you mad?” Lucius increased the power of his Lumos. “Look at him!”

Hermione did, and it broke her heart. 

Snape’s hair was nearly gone, replaced with what looked like scales. His clothes hung on him in tatters and the whole left side of his body was greenish black. His hands were longer, bony and curved like dragon talons and his eyes held an eerie reflective quality, like those of nocturnal animals able to see in the dark. His mouth hung open, drool falling to the floor.

He hissed. 

“What’s happened to him?” she managed, her voice wavering. “I’ve never seen anything like this. It’s like he’s caught mid-transfiguration.”

Lucius didn’t answer her; instead he slowly advanced towards his old friend. “Severus?” he said quietly. “Do you know who I am?”

Snape, who had been swaying back and forth, stopped as Malfoy approached. “Kissah cheweokesso…” 

“Parseltongue,” Lucius told Hermione, never taking his eyes off of Snape. “Unfortunately, I have no idea what he’s saying.”

Forcing herself to be braver than she felt, Hermione moved next to Lucius. “He was bitten by Nagini, right?”

He glanced down at her, frowning. “Yes, why?”

She inched closer to Snape, hoping her voice sounded calm to him. “How did the Dark Lord counteract Nagini’s venom?”

“What are you doing?” Lucius whisper-shouted. “He didn’t hesitate to try to kill you before, why are you making it easier?”

“Just… tell me, Lucius.” She had moved as close as she dared.

“He had Pettigrew milk the viper, and used her venom in brewing an antidote.”

She blew out a tense breath. “Do you think Snape might have stolen some of that venom, in case he had a run-in with the snake?” She held her hand out, very slowly, but Snape ignored it.

“More than likely. But Nagini has been dead for years. There’s nothing with which to make more antivenom.” 

Hermione beckoned Snape with her hand again.

“If you die due to your idiotic behaviour, the blame will be placed on me!” Lucius gritted out. 

She smiled softly at Snape, who was showing interest. “He’s not going to harm me again,” she said, all her attention focused on the wizard in front of her. “Let me help you, Severus.”

“Haan…”

She took a step further until she was nearly touching him. Slowly, she took his right hand and stroked the misshapen fingers. “I might have a way to reverse the effects,” she murmured, gaze fixed on his.

“Ho… how?” he rasped, barely able to form the word.

“Fight it, Severus,” she encouraged. “I have some venom with me that I think--”

Her words trailed off when he drew intimately close, his nose pressed just below her left ear. “Ooholts thonsekane eessh esveetah sey,” he hissed against her skin. 

The susurrations made her shiver, though she didn’t dwell on why. His tongue darted out and licked the sweat off her neck as he inhaled deeply. He coiled his arms around her and pulled her into a tight embrace, emitting a pheromone that was exhilarating.

“Miss Granger,” Lucius said hesitantly. “I think--”

“Geehouthet eemokesso!” Severus spat at Lucius. “Keeso ahhost gaalassoshee!” He pulled her in tighter.

“Lucius,” she said, turning in Snape’s arms until her back was against his chest. She was finding it hard to concentrate. “Go find that Thestral,” she breathed. Her eyes nearly closed as Severus nuzzled beneath her hair. “Bring him here. Go quickly.”

“Why on earth do you need that blasted creature?” At her narrowed gaze, he gave her a dubious look. “But what of Snape?”

She melted into Snape’s grip, almost like she was hypnotised. “He won’t hurt me.”

“I dare say, but he may take advantage of your... willingness,” Lucius observed, eyebrows raised.

“Then maybe you should hurry,” she pointed out with a glare. 

“Nothing more than a bloody owl, ferrying missives,” Lucius griped. “Let’s hope his tongue doesn’t fork while I’m gone,” he muttered as he made his way to the entrance. “I do hear hear it’s double the pleasure.”

“Crass,” she whimpered as Severus pushed aside her wild hair and started tugging on it. She stared at Lucius in earnest. “Please hurry.”

“I should be given an award for keeping my mouth shut when there’s so much that needs to be said about this situation,” she heard him call as he left the house.

He didn’t wait for an answer, and he didn’t look back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Parstletongue is from an obscure translator I found among the HP links ruins: 
> 
> https://www.theparselmouth.com/
> 
> You need Adobe Flash Player to run it, but there will be translations in the next chapter.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which Harry loses his Gobstones, Lucius is a fussy go-fer, Severus loses his crap, Hermione is a trooper and Thestrals save the day.

Severus felt the vibrations first - someone, no two someones, on the grounds of his lair. He raised his head and flicked out his tongue to scent the air, tasting the molecules. Male, female. He crawled along the stone wall of the cellar and up the wooden steps to the door leading to the kitchen [or wherever]. He pushed it open slightly and tested the air again. The scent was stronger this time, familiar. 

The front door was open and bright light shone in the passageway, hurting his sensitive eyes. He ducked back down into the darkness, listening to them move around above him. One set of footsteps came closer to his position, causing him to tense.

“Lucius, I think I found--”

Severus sprang from his crouch to wrap his hands around the female’s neck. “What are you doing here?!” he hissed.

She looked familiar as she clawed at the grip he had. “Lu…” He squeezed harder.

A painful blast threw Severus to the end of the hallway, and he rolled into a foetal position, cradling his left side. His skin sizzled and prickled, sending a strange sort of energy throughout his limbs.

“That will leave a mark. Do remember to tell Potter it wasn’t my fault.”

Words. Words were hard to understand anymore. Severus turned over and watched the two stare at him. He crawled to the wall and dug his fingers into the plaster, pulling himself upright. The female started to approach, but the male stopped her.

“Are you mad?” The light increased significantly “Look at him!”

The light was unbearable and he raised his hand to block some of it, hissing at them.

“What’s happened to him?” the female said. “I’ve never seen anything like this. It’s like he’s caught mid-transfiguration.”

The male moved slowly towards him and he tensed to strike again.

“Severus?”

He knew that name. It was his name, yes? Why was it so hard to remember? He began to sway, trying to process the speech.

“Do you know who I am?”

Pale blond, tall, sneer. Wizard? Severus stopped moving as the answer came to him. “Old friend…” But the man only looked at him quizzically.

“Parseltongue,” the man said. “Unfortunately, I have no idea what he’s saying.”

The female came to stand next to the wizard. “He was bitten by Nagini, right?”

“Yes, why?”

She started to move closer to Severus, who eyed her warily. Her voice was calm, soothing. “How did the Dark Lord counteract Nagini’s venom?”

The male became agitated. “What are you doing? He didn’t hesitate to try to kill you before, why are you making it easier?”

The female was just in front of him now, but she radiated no malice. She smelled so familiar. He scented the air again and focused solely on her. She was intoxicating. 

“Just… tell me, Lucius.” Her words were soft, pleading.

“He had Pettigrew milk the viper, and used her venom in brewing an antidote.”

The breath she exhaled brushed the sensitive skin of his face. “Do you think Snape might have stolen some of that venom, in case he had a run-in with the snake?” She held her hand out, very slowly. He looked at it, but made no movement.

“More than likely. But Nagini has been dead for years. There’s nothing with which to make more antivenom.” 

She beckoned Snape with her hand again. Her flesh looked and smelled so inviting and he let his gaze roam her body. The heat radiating from her promised warmth and safety. He leaned towards her.

“If you die due to your idiotic behaviour, the blame will be placed on me!” his...old friend?... said in a sharp tone. 

This raised his hackles. This man should not be intimidating the female!

She smiled softly at Snape, who moved closer still. “He’s not going to harm me again,” she said, her focus never wavering. “Let me help you, Severus.”

That name again. His name. He tried to push words past his lips, words that the other two would understand. “Haan…”

She took a step forward until she was nearly touching him. Slowly, she took his right hand and stroked his misshapen fingers. “I might have a way to reverse the effects,” she murmured, gaze fixed on his.

“Ho… how?” he rasped, barely able to form the word.

“Fight it, Severus,” she encouraged. “I have some venom with me that I think--”

Her scent was overwhelming and he wanted more. He drew intimately close, his nose pressed just below her left ear. “I want to taste you,” he hissed against her skin. 

He felt her tremors, wanted to make her shudder for him. His tongue darted out and licked the sweat off her neck as he inhaled deeply. He coiled his arms around her and pulled her into a tight embrace, relishing the heat that suffused his body.

“Miss Granger, I think--”

“Go away!” Severus spat at the wizard. “She is mine!” He pulled her in tighter.

She turned in his arms so that her back was pressed against his chest, and he liked that even more. “Lucius, go find that Thestral,” she breathed. He mouthed along her shoulder and into her hairline, her smell filling his senses. “Bring it here. Go quickly.”

“Why on earth do you need that blasted creature?” 

Severus’ hands travelled their way over her stomach and up to cup her breast, and he shifted to press his hips into hers. She whimpered and melted into his embrace. It was divine.

“But what of Snape?”

She nuzzled her face against his, her breath hot. “He won’t hurt me.”

“I dare say, but he may take advantage of your... willingness.”

She tensed in his arms, and he hissed under his breath. “Then maybe you should hurry,” she said, her voice unsteady.

“Nothing more than a bloody owl, ferrying missives. Let’s hope his tongue doesn’t fork while I’m gone.” Severus watched with satisfaction as the wizard turned to leave. “I do hear hear it’s double the pleasure.”

“Crass,” she whimpered as Severus pushed aside her wild hair and started tugging on it. He liked how much there was and he buried his face in it. “Please hurry.”

“I should be given an award for keeping my mouth shut when there’s so much that needs to be said about this situation.” 

He didn’t understand the wizard’s parting words, but it didn’t matter, Severus had what he wanted. 

“Mate,” he hissed and wrapped her hair around his fist, baring her neck to him. His teeth grazed her skin and he loved to watch it ripple as she shivered.

“I don’t know what you’re saying, Severus,” she whispered, “but you need to let me go. You don’t know what you’re doing.”

Something smelled wrong, like resistance. The scent that had previously drawn him in was now turning sour. 

“Want you now!” he snarled into her ear. One of his hands came up to grip her jaw, his claws pricking her flesh until little drops of blood welled up. He lapped them up and it sent him into a frenzy.

Human blood - it was invigorating, heady and he wanted more!

Once again, a painful blast sent him careening, this time into the cellar door. He grasped at his stomach, trying to breathe. 

The female was pointing a stick at him. “You need to _stop_.”

He hissed at her, fangs bared. If she didn’t want to mate, why was she here? She was so tantalizing, her blood so potent. He needed more. He pushed himself off the floor and was about to lunge forward and capture her when everything went black.

* * *

Harry waited until all the patrons had left the Hogs Head before slipping inside, his invisibility cloak masking his presence. A wet rag was busily wiping down the bar while Aberforth set the glasses to washing themselves. He made his way over to the hearth and added two more logs to the fire, snagging a burning twig to light his pipe. 

“Took you long enough, boy.”

Harry started. Could Aberforth see him? Had he been able to see Hermione the day they had visited? 

“When you ask a favour of Death, the magic lingers,” Aberforth muttered then stared directly at Harry. “You know what that’s like, I expect.”

Harry let the cloak slide off his head. “I asked for no favours,” he pointed out. 

Aberforth grunted. “ _You_ might not have, but the original owner of that drape you’re wearing most certainly did. Cut from Death’s own cloak, it was.”

“How do you know?” Harry asked, moving to stand next to the barkeep.

“I don’t think that’s the question you came here to ask me.”

“I was trying to be polite.”

“Stop trying to be something you’re not,” Aberforth snorted. “You well know what’s in your soul, and that it’s rotting you from the inside out.”

Harry gave up any pretense of civility. He grabbed Aberforth’s wrist and squeezed, hard. “Tell me about the prophecy.”

Aberforth flexed his fingers but Harry didn’t let go. He sighed. “Alright, no need to break my wrist. Albus found out Snape was listening at the door during Trelawney’s interview. Don’t know why he wanted to talk to her here -- lack of a crowd, I suppose.” He shifted. “He left to give the boy what for, but that witch, she just kept talking. I figured someone ought to record what she was saying, just in case.”

“But you didn’t tell Albus about it,” Harry accused. 

Aberforth shrugged. “He didn’t ask. Just came back an hour later and whisked her away to Hogwarts. Last I saw of her.”

“How convenient.”

“It was, actually. Didn’t have to contend with anybody going through my pub, sifting through my life, trying to find things out. Until now. Saved you lot a bunch of headaches, I did, by keeping it hidden.”

Harry let go of his wrist and started to pace. “But it might have helped us during the war!”

This time, Aberforth grabbed Harry’s arm to stop his pacing. “No, it wouldn’t have, lad.” He shook him a little. “Did you not listen to the blasted thing? It concerned events _after_ the war, not before or during it.”

“It predicted an end to the war!” Harry shouted, tears fringing his lashes. It could have spared him the uncertainty his whole life had held. “I would have known for sure that I would end Voldemort! I wouldn't have had to just wing it and hope for the best, terrified for everyone I knew!”

“Expert in interpreting prophecies now, are you?” Aberforth scoffed. “So it talked about after the war. How d'you know it would’ve been your side that won? Could’ve been Riddle. Could’ve been no one.” He narrowed his eyes. “Your own prophecy could’ve been interpreted very differently, and you know it.”

“Neville,” Harry said slowly. 

“Aye, Longbottom. The difference is who interprets the prophecy. Snape took it to mean you because of your mother, how he felt about her. If he'd considered it fully, he would’ve told Voldemort about Longbottom as well. Could that boy have fulfilled the prophecy instead of you?”

“Neville is a strong wizard,” Harry defended. To be honest, he wouldn’t have wished his fate on anyone, especially kind, quiet Neville.

“No need to tell me; the boy finished that nasty serpent, I know.”

Harry collapsed into a chair and stared into the fire. “Is the prophecy about Snape?”

Aberforth was silent for a long moment, then he fetched a bottle of Firewhisky and two tumblers. He poured a generous portion into each and handed one to Harry. “Again, it’s up to interpretation. _Why_ do you think it’s about Snape?”

“Because it was found in Eileen Prince’s trunk. Why would it be in there if it wasn’t about her son?”

Aberforth took a sip and sighed. “Did you know that Eileen was friendless, even among the Slytherins?”

Harry frowned. “That’s… terrible. But what does it have to do--”

“Ever wonder how she became the captain of the Gobstone Club?”

“She was really good?”

Aberforth huffed and sat back. “The witch was a disaster.” He gave Harry a pointed look. “Until I started teaching her how to win.”

“You?”

“Yes, me. Is there something wrong with me teaching someone something?” he said indignantly. 

“No, no. I just never thought…” 

“She was a morose little thing. Don’t know if she was touched in the head or if it was because of her family. She used to practice in secret, near the goat pens. Gobstones is a foul game when you lose; thought the smell might be masked by the goats, I expect. Got tired of watching her get more and more frustrated. Told her how to aim, when to shoot, how to measure the air around her to advance her shot further. She and I practiced for hours at a time from then on. When she made captain, she still found time to come visit me. Considered me a friend, I suppose.”

“The only one she had,” Harry surmised. He swallowed a large gulp of his whisky. “Is that how you ended up with her things?”

Aberforth nodded. “Once she left Hogwarts, I didn’t see her for a great while. I imagined she had married some Pureblood bloke, them tending to want to keep bloodlines unsullied and all that rot. But come 1959, about six months before she had her boy, and she shows up here after hours. Says she needs me to keep something safe for her, and produces a steamer trunk out of bloody nowhere. I ask what for, she just tells me that her husband would kill her if he ever found out about the contents. I didn’t ask what was in it, didn't want to know. Was going to refuse until I saw the fear in her eyes. Knew then she hadn’t married some wizard; they wouldn’t have minded anything magical.” He leaned forward and pointed at Harry with his glass. “Muggles are a damned scary lot. They've a nasty tendency to destroy what they’re afraid of. And that’s exactly what happened to Eileen Prince.”

Harry finished his drink. “That’s what happened to her, isn’t it? Snape’s father killed her.”

Aberforth studied the bottom of his empty tumbler. “I only hope it was quick. Witch deserved better,” he said with a sniff. “I hid the trunk. I’m very good with keeping secrets.” He winked. “Years later, when I recorded the prophecy, I stuffed it in her trunk. Seemed appropriate, him bein' there and all. Sounded like it might be about him, though it could’ve been anyone. Thought I'd keep it safe, just in case.” He poured himself another drink and sloshed some into Harry’s glass.

“Hmm.” Harry took a thoughtful sip. “Why did you give her trunk to the Ministry then?”

“Was deep in my cups that night,” Aberforth admitted. He picked at a splinter on the table. “I don’t remember much, just that I was sick of Albus’ portrait pestering me.” He gestured with a thumb to the floor above. “Tosser kept saying his room was cluttered. In the morning the whole upstairs was empty, save for his portrait. Surprised I didn’t burn everything.”

“Thank Merlin you didn't.” Harry finished off his whisky and stood. “At least I have a better understanding of what happened.” He took out his wand, and without a second's hesitation pointed it at the old barman and said, “ _Obliviate._ ”

Aberforth stared off into the distance as the memories from that evening disappeared.

“You won’t remember this night, either.”

* * *

Severus slowly regained consciousness and found himself strapped to a thin cot by glowing cords that wrapped around his chest, arms, legs and ankles. He glanced around the room, noticing the sunlight coming through the wooden slats that covered the windows. The light didn’t hurt his eyes like before, which confused him.

“He’s awake,” said a man's voice from behind him. 

“Severus?” 

He watched as the female… no, the witch... Granger! “Whaad…” he tried, but his words came out garbled. His tongue and mouth felt thick, strange.

A cool hand touched his forehead. “You might be a bit disoriented. It’s all I could do in such a short amount of time.”

“What…” He tried again to focus, to speak, but everything was so muddled.

“I’m surprised he remembers his own name.”

Severus turned his head in the direction of the voice. “Mal… foy.”

Lucius came over and bent low. “Are you going to be calm if I remove the Binding Spell?”

He frowned, unable to comprehend why he was bound in the first place. 

“Lucius, leave off.” Granger studied Severus. “I need to prepare an antivenom, but I need your consent to administer it. I won’t put you through it, or the Thestral, if you’re going to refuse.” She raised a brow. “So, if we remove the bindings, will you cooperate?”

“What are… you… going… to do?” Severus rasped. His throat was parched. “Water.”

She smiled sadly. “I can’t yet. If you’re going to take this, no food or water.”

As if on cue, Severus’ stomach growled. 

“He probably hasn’t eaten anything of substance in days,” Lucius commented. 

Granger gave him a sharp look. “Yes, I’ve figured that out for myself, thank you.” She returned her attention to Severus. “I can make the antivenom. But I don’t know if it will work. I’ve dosed you with Blood Replenishing potion, the human variety, but I don’t know how long that will last.”

Severus felt more like himself than he had in some time, but there was a definite edge to the feeling, as if it would take but one more thing to send him past the breaking point. He considered her offer. Of all the students he had taught, she was the one he trusted to get it right. If she and Malfoy were working together, it was a good bet that things would go according to plan. Before he could answer, Lucius crouched down to eye level.

“Think of it this way, old fellow. Death is not the end. There remains the litigation over the estate.”

They both stared at Lucius as if he’d grown a third eye, then with an ungentle shove, Granger pushed him away.

“You have a twisted mind,” she spat.

Lucius dusted himself off and stood. “No, it’s just strategically bent in several places.”

“Go get the Thestral,” she ordered. "And don't talk."

He looked about to argue with her, but then huffed and made his way down the stairs. 

Severus shifted his gaze to Granger. “Yes,” he croaked

“What?"

"Yes...antivenom…"

"Oh! Good.” She looked flustered. “Yes, good.” She waved her wand and the cords disappeared.

He sat up and looked at the sickness in his left arm, hell, his whole left side. Seeing the damage, feeling the oily darkness still within him, he didn’t hold out much hope of success, whatever she had planned. It did, however, touch something in him that she was determined to try and save him. 

“I… appreciate your… efforts,” he said haltingly. Each word was a struggle to produce, like processing two different languages.

She took his blackened hand and held it tight. “No matter what happens, I will stay with you.”

His chest ached at her words. Tears came, unbidden. He tried to dash them away before she saw, but his limbs were clumsy. He gasped when he felt her small hand wipe them away for him.

They stared at each other. “Thank… you.”

She gave him an encouraging smile. “You’re quite welcome.”

He was about to say more, but he heard Malfoy grumbling and then a hollow clip-clop of hooves on the stairs. The steps groaned under the weight and Severus hoped the structure would hold. The pair appeared in the room and he took in the enormous size of the creature. It beat its wings once, sending Lucius scurrying to the far side of the room. 

Granger went to the beast and placed her forehead against its muzzle. “I must ask a large favour, my friend. I need to help Snape and I can’t do it without you. It will be painful, but only for a little bit. Will you help us?”

The Thestral pawed at the floorboards and nodded its head up and down. It made its way over to Snape and sniffed at him, then screeched and bellowed, blasting Severus with its hot breath. While it was focused on him, Granger transfigured a window sash into a rather large Muggle syringe and needle.

“My god, what is that?” Lucius gasped.

“Just be glad I’m not using it on you,” Granger replied. She went to her knapsack and withdrew a cobalt bottle. She opened it, stuck the needle inside and drew out enough to fill half the syringe. Looking at Snape, she asked, “Do you have water?”

Severus nodded and pointed down the stairs. “Kitchen.”

“Lucius, please get--”

“Yes, I know; errand boy, at your service,” he said crossly. 

Granger had a ghost of a smile as she watched him leave. “He’s been grumpy this entire trip.”

“Surprised he… came.”

She smiled fully then. “Harry made him.”

If Severus could have raised his eyebrows, he would. “Potter?”

“I told Harry I was coming. He made Lucius accompany me to make sure nothing happened.”

The clinging darkness was rising again, starting to drown him, and he tried desperately to stay lucid. “Lucius should be... wary of… sey…”

“Severus?” His vision dimmed, Granger's face swaying before him. “Stay with me, Severus.” 

He wanted to, truly, but it was becoming harder to breathe. 

“The quality is questionable,” Lucius said as he entered the room. He took one look at Snape. “Should I restrain him again?”

“No, just…” She took the water from him and cast a Cleansing Charm. “Just make sure he doesn’t move much.” She placed the needle in the cup and withdrew water into the syringe until it was full.

The Thestral, which had been waiting near Severus, stepped daintily towards Granger and lowered its head. She stroked it. “Thank you, friend. Unfortunately, this will sting.” She pinched a bit of the silky flesh and plunged the needle into the Thestral's neck, injecting its contents with one swift push of the plunger.

Banshee screaming filled the room, making Severus cringe back into the mattress. The animal's white eyes turned a lurid yellow and it snorted smoke from its nostrils. The Thestral reared up until its head and wings brushed the ceiling, causing plaster to fall all over the room. It came down, shook its head violently, then reared again. This went on for several minutes, as Granger and Malfoy huddled over him, trying in turns to keep him awake and protected from flying debris.

Gradually the Thestral calmed down, finally collapsing to the floor in a quivering heap. Granger made her way to the creature and began gently wiping away the foam and sweat that covered the beast. She ran her hand up and down its nose, cooing and praising it for a job well done.

“What exactly did it do, other than almost killing us?” Lucius asked incredulously.

She smiled at the Thestral. “This lovely beauty just made my antivenom… the old fashioned way.” 

“You’d best hurry then,” Lucius muttered, holding Snape’s flagging body. “He’s not long for this world.”

Through half-closed eyes and a haze of pain, Severus watched as Granger cast a quick _Tergeo_ to clean the syringe. “One more time,” she whispered to the Thestral. She pinched the skin on its neck, slid the needle into a vein, and withdrew the blood until it was full. 

She rose and made her way over to Severus, whose head lolled on Malfoy’s shoulder. “Pull up his left sleeve.”

Lucius glanced at Snape’s arm. “There’s not enough fabric left to be called a sleeve.”

“Just do it!”

He pushed aside the tatters, grimacing at the state of Snape’s skin, straightened his left arm, and held it still. “Do it.”

“This will hurt, Severus,” she apologised and stuck the needle in the center of the area where the Dark Mark had first begun to mutate. She pushed the plunger.

And Severus’ world went black.

* * *

Hermione’s hands shook. 

Severus was seizing on the cot. Lucius, trying desperately to contain his thrashing, earned himself a head-butt against his jaw. 

“Damn it!” Lucius worked his jaw to make sure nothing was broken, while at the same time struggling to hold Severus still. “Why can’t we restrain him with magic?” 

Tears filled her eyes as she watched Snape arch his back to the point of nearly breaking. “There's so much magic going through him right now, I don’t know if it would be safe. There might be side-effects.” She took his hand and held on for dear life.

Snape continued to thrash for several minutes and then abruptly collapsed, looking as if the life had drained out of him. He lay limp on the bed, his whole body drenched in sweat, ribs heaving with rapid, shallow breathing.

The darkness on his skin was fading.

Hermione let out a breath she’d been holding. “Look!”

The scales that covered the majority of his left side were sloughing off, like shedding a snake skin. The gnarled ridges of his hands and fingers started to smooth out. The black spider-like veins started to recede. 

“Astonishing,” Lucius whispered.

She could only nod as Snape’s breathing evened out, until at last he was dozing. His hair hadn’t regrown, but Hermione believed it would return in time. Even the Dark Mark had started to fade.

“That shouldn’t be possible,” Lucius said, staring at his friend’s arm. He glanced at her. “What in Merlin's name did you do?”

She closed her eyes and pulled Severus into an embrace, letting him rest against her shoulder. She stroked his bare head, much like she had the Thestral. “Antivenom is made differently in the Muggle world.” She swayed a bit, exhaustion and relief making her feel weak. “Muggles use horses to produce antivenom. I’m just glad we had the Thestral on hand. Don’t know how a regular horse would have processed magical venom.” She pressed a kiss to Severus temple. “The Thestral’s blood gave him a boost, too, I suspect.” 

Hermione noticed Lucius looking at his own arm contemplatively. “I can see if it would work for you.”

He looked vaguely embarrassed and waved her offer away. “I think I’ll keep it.” He nodded in gratitude. “As a reminder of what I almost lost.”

“How touching.”

Hermione and Lucius jerked their heads round to the entrance of the room. Harry stood there watching them. 

“Harry?” She pulled Severus closer instinctively. “What are you doing here?”

He shrugged and came towards them. His odd expression set alarm bells ringing in her head. 

“Just wanted to make sure you were still all right.” He spared a glance at Lucius. “I’m impressed. You kept your word.”

Uneasily, she saw that Lucius actually looked nervous. “I do try to honour my debts, Potter.” He stood and moved away.

Harry focused his attention on Hermione and Snape. Normally, his intent gaze wouldn’t have bothered her, but his eyes told a different story. 

He sat on the cot, on the other side of Snape. “How is he?”

She stared at her friend over Snape’s shoulder. “Why are you really here, Harry? I told you I'd call you if I needed you, and I promised I would come back.”

He craned his neck in an unnatural manner. “I wanted to make sure the traitor was dealt with.”

Hermione tightened her grip on Severus, one hand cradling the back of his head, the other spread protectively across his chest. “What traitor?”

Harry spared the wary Lucius a glance and gave him a lethal smile. “Still pathetic as always, Lucius.” 

“Harry, Malfoy kept his word. Don’t you touch him!”

Harry stood up and advanced on Lucius, who held his ground near the window. Hermione reluctantly let go of Severus and laid him down gently. She would need all her wits about her to deal with her friend.

As Harry pressed his wand to Malfoy’s throat, she took a deep breath and said, “ _Imperio_!” 

Harry froze, his arms falling limp, his wand clattering to the floor. She nodded at Lucius, who quickly snatched it and threw it to her. She waved her wand and Harry moved stiffly to sit near the Thestral, who was on its feet again, evidently recovered from its ordeal. The moment he came near, the creature shied away and came to stand near Snape. 

She felt disgusted at having cast an Unforgivable, and on her best friend, but she had a strong inkling she wasn’t truly dealing with her best friend. “Answer my questions. Are you Harry Potter?”

Harry slowly smiled, a wicked glint in his eyes. “Yes.”

“Is there still a Horcrux inside you?”

Lucius gasped. “That’s how--” 

“Not helping, Malfoy,” she gritted out. “Answer the question.”

“No,” Harry said, still smiling. 

Hermione’s lips began to tremble. If this was all Harry, if the Harry she knew and loved was gone…

“Ask him what… was left.”

Both Hermione and Lucius turned to see Severus sitting up, clutching at his neck, with a pained expression. He nodded to both of them. 

“Ask him what was… left behind.”

Harry stared at Severus. “You’re a hard one to kill.”

“What was left behind, Harry?” Hermione pressed.

“Echoes,” Harry muttered, his smile fading. “I still feel...him sometimes. In my veins.”

Horror and sadness filled Hermione. Harry had been struggling for so long, and she had just chalked it up to post traumatic stress from everything that had happened. But it was far more insidious. Having had a psychotic maniac as a constant companion for pretty much the whole of his life, even with that dark presence gone, there were bound to be corrupted thoughts and feelings, lingering. Festering.

And then the prophecy finally made sense. She glanced at Snape and back to Harry.

_Brothers in arms, so much alike  
Slow is the poison that fills his veins,  
But once full, nothing will remain_

It was both Snape _and_ Harry.

“Lucius, please come here,” she whispered. Somewhat reluctantly, he joined her, and she handed him her wand. “Keep that pointed at Harry. I need my hands free.”

Lucius stared at her. “You’re giving me your wand?”

“Just temporarily, you git.” She went to the Thestral and stroked his withers. “Dear friend. One last time?” It snorted and nodded again. “Thank you.” 

Hands shaking, she took the needle and syringe she had used on Severus and withdrew another vial of the creature’s blood. A strong hand held her arm steady, and she glanced gratefully at Snape and nodded her thanks. 

Taking the full dose, she made her way over to Harry and sat down in front of him. Without her having to ask, Lucius placed Hermione’s wand in her hand. “Thank you.” She gazed at her best friend. “Harry, love.”

The defiant expression he wore melted and tears filled his eyes. “Help me, Hermione,” he pleaded. 

She cupped his cheek and wiped away the tears. “It’ll be okay, trust me.”

Harry glanced at the syringe and nodded haltingly. 

“Roll up your sleeve.”

Harry’s skin, while not blackened and scaled like Severus’, had a greenish tint to it. It would’ve been only a matter of time before a similar fate had overtaken him. 

As she injected the remedy into Harry, he murmured, “How do you know if there is good without evil?” When she didn’t answer, he posed another question. “What light can shine without darkness? You need me, to give you purpose.”

“Miss Granger needs no one to give her purpose,” Severus managed. “She is unapologetically unafraid to be herself. There is no greater beauty.”

Hermione choked back a sob as the last drop was infused into Harry’s veins. She quickly released the Imperius spell, waited tensely for his next move. There was no violent reaction, as with Severus. Instead, Harry slumped forward and became sick, vomiting out a black, tar-like substance. Hermione banished it immediately before it could even hit the floor.

Harry heaved until there was nothing left then collapsed to the side, panting. 

“Spending time with you, Miss Granger, is quite the adventure," Lucius observed. "One never knows what bodily fluid will make the next appearance.”

Hermione couldn’t help herself. She laughed until she snorted. 

“Lucius, you’re an arse,” Severus grunted. 

“What? I’m merely stating the facts.” 

She shook her head and helped Harry to sit up. “How are you feeling?”

He was pale and shaky, his skin clammy. “I feel like Ron did when he tried to hex Draco to eat slugs and it backfired on him.”

Poor Ron, he had vomited for hours. “Gross,” she said and wrinkled her nose. She felt his forehead. “Any desire to decapitate and maim?”

Harry gave her a wan smile. “No more than usual.”

“That’s reassuring.” She glanced at Lucius, who gave her a very put-upon expression. She only raised her brows. 

“Fine,” he spat. He trudged down the stairs, muttering to himself the whole time.

“Where is he--”

“To get water,” Severus croaked. “We desperately need it.”

Hermione went to her knapsack and dug around until she found several blankets. “I want us to rest before we return.” She set about conjuring additional camp beds for everyone to sleep on.

“I couldn’t move if I wanted to,” Harry said with a yawn. 

Lucius chose that moment to reappear with four large glasses of water floating behind him. “I’ve already used a Cleansing Charm on them, no need to thank me.”

“I wasn’t going to,” Snape snarked.

“Arse.” Lucius looked at all the beds. “What are you doing?”

“We’re sleeping before we head home.” Hermione gave him a look. “Including you.”

He sniffed primly. “I am accustomed to better accommodations.” Lucius waved his wand and the camp bed turned into a full sized bed, complete with sheets, duvet and fluffy pillows.

“Fussy peacock,” Severus snorted. 

“Have no doubt.” Lucius hesitated, and glanced from Hermione to Snape. “Your promise, Miss Granger?”

Hermione’s cheeks heated at her lapse. “Sorry!” She knelt next to Snape’s cot, suddenly nervous. “Would you please release Draco from his vow?”

Severus sniffed. “Just like that?”

“I told you he wouldn’t--”

“I’m asking you,” Hermione interrupted Lucius’ impending tirade. “Lucius risked his life and magic to make sure we found you. Please. If not for them, then for me.”

“Unfair,” Severus growled. 

“Life’s unfair,” Harry mumbled, half asleep. “You told me that a long time ago.”

“Shut up, Potter.” He gave Lucius a hard look. “If I do this, no retaliation, are we agreed?”

Lucius pursed his lips, as if gearing up to argue. But then he nodded swiftly. “You have my word.”

“Very well. But it will need to wait until our return.” Severus drained the glass of water and lay down, burying himself up to his nose under the blanket. 

Apparently Lucius was satisfied with that, as he promptly disappeared underneath the duvet on his posh bed. Hermione glanced at Harry, but she could only see the top of his head, an empty water glass beside the bed. 

She sighed, feeling the stress of the last few days steal over her. She started to rise, but Severus took her hand, holding it lightly.

“Stay,” he whispered.

His eyes were no longer luminous with power, but held a deep gratitude. She nodded and he moved the covers aside so that she could join him on the cot. She buried her face against his chest and inhaled a shuddering breath. 

She touched the marks on his throat, remnants of what Nagini had done… and what she had healed. “I was afraid we wouldn’t make it here in time.”

“But you did.” He smiled crookedly, running a hand over his bare head. “I am scarred and ugly. Not at all a fit companion.” He sobered. “I am a difficult wizard, full of contradictions and unpleasantness.”

Hermione traced the path Severus’ hand had taken over his head. “Don’t worry about your contradictions, Severus.” She brushed her thumb against his bottom lip. “Persephone was both a maiden of spring flowers and queen of death. I can be both.” 

“If you two don’t stop your disgusting display of verbal foreplay, I will come over there and throttle you myself!” said a muffled voice from beneath the covers of the posh bed.

A beat of silence and then Hermione burst into laughter before kissing Severus, who returned it enthusiastically.

Severus’ arms curled around her and pulled her close. “Thank you,” he murmured into her hair. “I have always lived my life two steps from Hell. Now perhaps, I can step in a different direction.”

She would make sure that she was by his side for the journey.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Normal, Muggle horses are used to make human antivenom: 
> 
> https://www.abc.net.au/news/rural/2016-12-19/snake-antivenom-thanks-to-former-racehorses/8131990
> 
> Imagine the effects if they used Thestrals....


End file.
